


Fragmentum

by ryssabeth



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Romance, Short Chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-24
Updated: 2011-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 67
Words: 31,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryssabeth/pseuds/ryssabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has a breaking point. Tim has reached his. And he has succumbed to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And here we are! Technically the fic that started it all for me. Transferred from fanfiction.net.

Tim isn't sure if this dinner Dick proposed is to compensate for the fact that he had been fired. Whether it is or not, he is very confused as to why he attended. He can't really stand Dick at the moment and he can stand Damian even less.

But, then, Alfred had been the one to call and ask (though Tim had changed apartments since then).

"Welcome back, bro!"

Tim wants to tell Dick that they're not brothers anymore. But he doesn't. Dick just looks so happy and Tim has ruined enough lives (including his own, many times over) for one lifetime.

Alfred looks pleased to see him and at least Time can give the old man that much. Damian, however, looks even more sour than he usually does. Tim takes particular pleasure in this. The left corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk and Damian scowls further.

Dinner is filled with Dick trying to get Tim to divulge where he lives and Tim avoiding questions. Damian spits insults every now and again.

There is a moment where Tim feels as if he will vomit. He stands and excuses himself to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He washes his hands to be safe and stares at himself in the mirror.

_My hair is getting too long._

He is breathlessly grateful when Conner opens the bathroom door.

"How'd you get in here?"

Conner waggles his eyebrows. "A Super knows no bounds, right?"

Tim smiles.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. 'Course I am. Trying to find a way to tell Dick that Bruce is alive. I have proof, found it in Ira—"

"Tim?" Dick's voice makes him stop and blink. "Who are you talking to? You okay?"

He wants to tell Dick that he was talking to Conner, didn't he ever pay attention, but Conner wasn't there. Tim's eyes flicked around the bathroom. He swallowed and rubbed his temples. Tears pricked uncomfortably at his eyelids.

"I'm fine. Just. Talking to myself." He needs sleep, he thinks. He's been missing too much sleep. He must be desperately tired if he thinks Conner would just show up. He is dead, after all.

Dick pushes the door open. "Have you been sleeping?"

Tim considers lying. But this is a perfect excuse to leave the awkward dinner. "Not well. I think I'm going to go catch up on that sleeping thing now. Thanks for dinner, Dick." He moves past his former brother (now traitor) but Dick catches his shoulder.

"We'll... need to do this again soon. See each other, I mean."

Tim stares at him. Nods once. "Sure."

He goes home, washes his hands once, and goes to bed.

It is no surprise to him that he sleeps poorly.


	2. Chapter 2

Tim likes the order of things. It makes him comfortable. He notes this as he straightens one of his files absently so that the end closest to the edge of the desk is parallel with that edge.

His hands itch.

He steps away from the desk. It takes twelve steps to reach the bathroom.

Tim has always enjoyed multiples of three.

He washes his hands for one hundred eighty seconds. His hands sting. He feels that it is the sting of cleanliness and order. Both things that keep him comfortable where he lives. These things, he knows, also give him control over his environment.

Control is one thing he has been lacking recently.

Bart sits on his couch as Tim rubs at his hands. He can't remember ever inviting Bart over, ever. But, then, he knew his identity and Bruce was gone so—

Bruce was gone. Bart was gone. And Conner and Steph and Dad.

_They're dead._

He looks back at his couch and Bart isn't there. He wouldn't be, after all. He was dead.

Tim begins to straighten things. He needs his apartment clean and in order. He _needs_ this.

 _Stability_ , he thinks.

By the time night creeps into Gotham, Tim's apartment is to his liking. Where applicable, multiples of three are obvious.

Tim is comfortable with three. He notes this as he admires his work from his seat on the floor. He, Conner, and Bart had been three. Three had been a magic number in all the video games Dick had played with him. He had been the third Robin (of any tenure, anyway).

"Nice work here, Tim."

That is Conner's voice. It is. It's _Conner's_.

"Wow, didn't know you were this picky, bro, when did all this start, I mean I knew you were neat but this is a tad—"

"Shut up," Tim whispers. Bart shuts up and the figures disappear.

He needs to focus. Needs to find Batman, the pillar of Gotham.

He needs to... he needs to—

Tim gets up, straightens a picture frame and locks himself in his bathroom.

He needs to wash his hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Jason isn't outside Tim's apartment because he wants to be. (It took him five different addresses to _find_ the stupid place.) He is here because Alfred asked him to be.

" _Master Tim hasn't been in contact for a little over two weeks. Master Dick says he was looking ill the last time he was here,"_ Alfred had said. _"I am concerned and would appreciate it terribly if you were to check on him for me."_

Not even the cold-blooded Jason Todd could say no to Alfred.

So here he is.

He knocks and there is a heavy sounding thunk and the sounds of locking mechanisms unlocking. Heavy duty locking mechanisms.

Jason feels the need to comment on this, but when he sees Tim's apartment, the locking mechanisms float to the back of his mind. Because the apartment gives of museum vibes. Everything is neat and tidy. All things are free of dust. The only thing _alive_ looking in the apartment is Tim, and he's so still that perhaps he could be part of the display.

Another thing that catches Jason's attention is the striking amount of threes. Batman had taught him to notice patterns, and the number three made many appearances.

It was unsettling to see. In fact, it was downright fucking _creepy_.

"Are you going to come in, or simply stand there?"

As Jason gets closer (and he notices Tim watching his boots), he registers that Tim looks tired. Bone tired. Jason can't even remember Bruce looking as tired as Tim does.

"Have you been sleeping at all? You look like shit."

"So is the life of the vigilante." He turns back to the computer and continues to search for whatever it had been that Jason had interrupted.

"Alfred sent me to check up on you."

"I have never needed a babysitter." Tim says this almost in a bitter fashion. Jason hopes it's the exhaustion. Tim glances at him and then back at the screen. "Keep this place a secret, will you? I hate having to change residencies."

"Pfft. Like Dick could even get in. Please, baby bird," Tim winces, "with those locks, you could keep _Bruce_ out."

Tim doesn't smile. Jason isn't sure he expected him to.

He touches his younger brother's hand (this is awkward, because two months ago, they had an encounter that had presented... obstacles for them. They haven't spoken since). Tim looks at the contact and pulls away, rubbing his hands as if something toxic had touched them.

"You should go," Tim says and Jason takes a step back as he stands abruptly. "Tell Alfred I'm fine."

 _I'd be lying,_ Jason thinks. _But I've always been a damn good liar._

"Sure," he says, and he moves toward the door. He hears the bathroom door shut. He assumes it was the bathroom because he hears water begin to run.

Tim is not fine. But Jason isn't sure _what,_ exactly, he is.


	4. Chapter 4

Many days of sleeplessness have finally caught up with him. And Tim dreams of clones. He dreams of the clones of clones, failures all. He dreams of them coming after him.

He dreams of his father, dead because of him.

It is during one of these dreams that Tim wakes up and goes to the bathroom. He vomits, bent over the toilet. Tears stream down his cheeks. He has always been terrible about that. Whenever he would get sick, he'd cry.

Tim is pitiful. He knows this.

He stands on shaky legs, flushes his stomach, and showers. He needs cleanliness. He scrubs himself, hoping that perhaps soap can work wonders on the inner stains, the tiredness, the illness he is feeling.

But, of course, hoping means little in the grand scheme of things.

He steps out of the shower and dresses. He fights the urge to wash his hands.

_I just showered._

He wipes the steam from his mirror chokes on his breath when he sees his father standing at his left shoulder.

"Tim," he says, "I had high hopes for you." His father shakes his head. Tim's heart wrenches. "I'm... disappointed. I told you this Robin business would come to no good." His father scowls. "Look at where it put me. And Bruce."

Tim glances over his shoulder. His father isn't there. But he's still in the mirror.

"Bruce is alive," Tim says. "I can prove it."

"I thought I raised you better than this."

Tim grips the mirror, pulling it off the wall and throws it upon the ground. It shatters, metallic pieces scattering around the bathroom. He hyperventilates. ( _Conner, Conner, where are you I need you—)_

The mess makes Tim's stomach turn again. He locates his vacuum in the small hall closet and begins to clean.

Afterwards, he takes a seat at his desk and starts his computer. He decides that perhaps sleep is not the most important thing he could be doing.

He continues his search for Bruce instead.


	5. Chapter 5

Tim is surprised when Jason shows up again.

"I told you to tell Alfred I'm fine."

"I did," Jason sounds irritable, as he always has. "This is my own visit." He strolls in and Tim tries not to wince as the boots shed dirt on his floor.

"I didn't think you made personal visits..." He trails off.

The awkward moment settles amongst them as they both reflect. A little over two months prior, the two had scuffled. Tim, when he was still Robin, had been tired and fed up. He had spat the words "fuck you" and Jason had frozen. Then, suddenly, they were kissing.

Jason and Tim had since avoided each other.

Hence Tim's surprise.

"Well..." Tim says into the silence, "I'm fine. So. You can go."

Jason snorts and sit on the sofa. "Don't think so."

Tim sighs and rubs the sleepiness out of his eyes. "Want anything then?"

"Beer."

He thinks he hears Conner chuckle. He shakes his head vigorously, three times, to clear the sound from his mind as he rummages through the kitchen.

"Don't have that. Coffee alright?"

Jason sighs loudly. "Sure, whatever."

When the coffee is brewed, he brings two mugs out into the living room, filled generously with the caffeinated beverage. He stops dead when he sees Stephanie on the sofa next to Jason, waving. Tim's legs feel like rubber, he notices as he falls to the floor.

He clenches his fists in the carpet and watches the coffee stain the cream colored fabric. He vaguely registers that he's in the grip of many muscle spasms, but all he can focus on is the giant stain forming on his carpet.

"Tim?" Steph's voice is shrill and scared.

But Jason's taking up his entire field of vision now.

"I've got you, baby bird," he says, trying to keep Tim from biting his own tongue and choking on the blood. "I've got you."

Tim worries about the stain as he slips into unconsciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

He is discharged after a day. Dick has no idea what's happened, for which Tim is grateful. But Jason is furious.

"They said there's nothing really wrong with me. I'm just too tired, dehydrated, and malnutritioned." Tim shrugs and pulls out his keys as they come within sight of his apartment building. "The..." He's not sure what to call it. "The attack was a system crash."

He wonders if he should be uncomfortable referring to himself as he might a machine.

"Tim, there _is_ something wrong with you. You had a fucking _seizure_ because you aren't _keeping yourself alive._ You _need_ to be checked _out,_ goddammit—"

Tim unlocks his door with his key and the hidden keypad.

"Jason, I'm fine. If it'll make you feel better, I'll eat a little more. It's just been slipping my mind. I've been busy. But..." Tim takes a breath. "But I'm _fine._ " He wants to tell Jason to go and be happy, forget about him, he's fine, he'll be fine. Instead, he says, "but thank you. I... your concern means a lot."

And he shuts the door to Jason's whispered curse of "fuck."

The heavy duty locks slide into place. Tim walks past his sofa where Stephanie and Bart are sitting to grab a bucket. He fills it with water and cleaning fluid in the kitchen and grabs a scrub brush, hauling it into the living room.

"Need any help?" Bart asks, leaning forward as if to get up. Tim ignores the both of them and kneels at the end of the coffee stain, scrub brush in hand.

He dunks it in the cleaning solution and begins to scrub at the atrocity in sets of six.

_Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub._

Stop.

Rinse.

Repeat.

_Scrub, scrub, scrub..._


	7. Chapter 7

Tim knows Bruce is alive.

"So, how's the evidence looking, man?" Conner asks. Tim "mm"s noncommittally and continues typing and searching all the databases he can hack into around the world.

(God, it's so hard not to talk to Conner because he's _right there—_ )

Bart is running around the living room. Stephanie is watching.

His hands are starting to itch again. He hates this.

He shuts his eyes and presses his palms against them. His head hurts. Perhaps, he thinks, he should eat something.

When he opens his eyes the dead are still dead. Conner's smile, however, has left an afterimage on his eyelids. Tears prickle and his throat threatens to close. His nose burns with the feeling of crying. And he hates himself. He would rather succumb to a seizure again than cry. He has had _enough_ of crying.

But the tears slide down his cheeks, leaving saline stains on his skin. They move toward his chin where they dangle, then fall to the carpet. At least the tears do not leave coffee stains that take four hours to remove. He supposes that could be a blessing.

"Shit," he whispers, rubbing at his eyes, and he feels a hand on his shoulder. But only for a moment.

Tim stands and walks to the bathroom. He washes his hands and his face.

His face stings with the vigor of his washing.

Tim is glad the mirror is gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Damian does not often go on walks. The sun in Gotham is dingy and often cloud-covered. The light is watery and just seeks to make more shadows. At least at night Gotham makes _sense._

But today there is nothing to do at the Manor and Pennyworth hovers. He hates hoverers.

He hates hoverers only a little more than he hates Timothy Drake. (Damian refuses to acknowledge him as a Wayne.) Who, as it happens, is sitting outside a little café, typing away on his damned computer. From what Todd tells Pennyworth, Drake never does much besides typing.

Damian walks towards him to get a closer look. To see if he is as dilapidated as Todd makes him seem.

Drake looks up at Damian's approach and there are dark half-moons under his eyes. He is still as "handsome" as the television reporters say, but his cheekbones are more prominent and his shoulders seem to hide beneath his clothes.

"Can I help you, Damian?"

Drake doesn't want to be civil, but Damian supposes he should be grateful that he is.

"I saw you here and thought to stop by. You look wretched, as if someone has dragged you through the sewers, Drake."

"I doubt..." He looks at the chair next to him at the table, pauses with his eyes closed, then opens them. He continues, "I doubt I look that bad. Is the purpose of your visit simply to insult me?"

He sounds worse than he looks. Exhausted. Ill, perhaps.

"What..." Damian begins. Drake looks at the seat again, but his blue eyes just flicker back to the computer screen. (He wonders if it has anything to do with Wayne Industries. He _is_ involved with the company, after all.) "What, exactly, are you doing?"

Drake meets his eyes and says, "I am lamenting the miseries of making friends, Damian." He shuts his laptop and walks away, leaving money on the table and a full coffee mug untouched.

Damian does not think that Drake was joking.

And he cannot help but feel concern twist his insides.


	9. Chapter 9

Tim is curling in on himself, his fingers digging into the opposite shoulders.

Conner is rubbing his back. He has done this once before, when Tim had pulled too many all-nighters and had managed to make himself ill in Titans tower.

 _Conner is not here,_ he has to tell himself. _He is dead._

Tim shudders and the feeling of illness washes through him. He wonders if this is a somatoform disorder. Mental disparity reflected in physical illness with no physical cause.

_I want to be dead._

He hates himself for thinking this. He hates himself more after that, because hating himself just makes him more inclined to just lie there and starve himself into oblivion.

Tim stands and walks to the kitchen, his sweatpants far looser on his hips than they used to be. He is furious at himself for forgetting to eat so often, or for not being hungry when he very well ought to be.

He pulls out a bag of potato chips and eats them. It is slow going. His stomach doesn't feel like processing the food and his esophagus doesn't feel like swallowing. But he does and the trembling rippling through his body slows until it stops.

He goes into the refrigerator and grabs a yogurt cup. That is far easier to eat. As he looks through the chilly food-preserver, he finds that it is running on empty.

Tim makes himself a note to shop for food. He leaves it next to his laptop so that he can't ignore it.

He wanders to the bathroom. After sweating out his sick-feelings and seeing Conner again (it has been happening more often, but he won't admit he's terrified) he needs to get clean.

He spends sixty minutes in there. (He does not think of it as one hour. One is not divisible by three, after all.)


	10. Chapter 10

He doesn't want to be here. The last dinner here was awkward and Tim really doesn't want to be near Dick or Damian. He supposes he is still bitter about losing the title of Robin.

Is it bad, he wonders, that Robin was how he defined himself?

But Jason is there. If Tim just doesn't speak much, Jason will talk. But, if Tim didn't talk, he wouldn't get to tell Dick that Bruce is alive. He has even brought a file with the evidence. He supposes that he should talk some.

Alfred frets over him, says he's getting too thin and looks too tired. His skin is too pale and his shoulders seem to be slouching.

Tim loves Alfred.

But Tim just smiles and says he's fine, just too busy.

He is sure Alfred has heard that before from Bruce.

Jason and Damian bicker the whole time. Dick looks at Tim, worriedly, because Tim is staring at Stephanie, who is smiling at him.

When the dinner is over (Tim didn't talk much) he goes up to Dick and says, "I need to tell you something."

Conner and Bart are murmuring about how it is about time he told Dick. There is something in him, Tim thinks, that is slowly being pulled.

"What is it, baby bro?"

Tim holds out the file and says, "The past couple months, I've been hunting Bruce through all the systems I can get into. I've complied evidence that he's alive. Starting with something that I found on my own, in Iraq."

Dick takes the folder, but he looks terribly sad.

"Tim..." He puts the folder on the table. The thing inside Tim is being pulled more. Damian and Jason have started watching. "Tim. Do you want to stay here and rest?"

"Why? We have to... We have to find Bruce."

"Tim, he's gone."

And the thing within him is suddenly pulled taught. It begins fraying at the point of tension.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

Conner looks surprised, then angry. Bart looks incredulous. Stephanie moved toward Tim, as if preparing for comfort. It is a comfort that Tim doesn't want.

"You... you think I've lost it, don't you?"

Dick looks sad. Tim thinks that he has no right to look sad. Tim is still _picking up his pieces_ after losing his mother and father and Steph and Conner and Bart and Bruce. What right does Dick have to be sad?

"I think you need to _rest._ "

Dick reaches to put a hand on his shoulder. Tim moved. "Don't touch me."

Conner suddenly looks worried. Tim backs up further. "Tim, man, maybe you should lie down."

"Shut _up,_ " Tim's voice rises and cracks. Dick and Jason and Damian are all looking at one another. Tim thinks he should go home. He has never belonged here.

Dick reaches for him again. And the thing in Tim snaps.

"I said _don't touch me_." The colors in the room swirl together and his three friends are coming forward. "Get away from me! Stop!"

Damian appears out of nowhere. Tim swings at him, connects with his cheek. But Damian stabs a needle into Tim's bicep and he feels sick and tired.

And he falls over.

 _He doesn't believe me, how could he not, we're_ brothers...

He slips into blackness.

_He said we're brothers..._


	11. Chapter 11

This is the ultimate betrayal. Jason knows personally and he can see it on Tim's face as the younger man is being guided toward an Arkham Asylum van.

Dick looks distraught, while Alfred looks angry. Even Damian looks upset.

Tim isn't looking at any of them, but Jason can see that his eyes are wet and threatening to overflow.

"It's the only asylum in Gotham. It's... he needs this," Dick is muttering to himself. Jason doesn't buy it and he assumes that if Tim could hear him, neither would he.

Jason has Tim's folder tucked under his arm. From what he read last night, Bruce could be alive. Jason can understand why Tim searched. It meant that one of the people he'd lost could come back. He'd clung to that hope.

And now Dick was sending him to Arkham.

Jason walks up to the man standing at the back of the van, who has a clipboard of paperwork that Dick will need to sign. He taps the man on the shoulder. Jason thinks he may recognize the clipboard-man from one of his own stints in the prison (because that's what it is).

"When he gets there," Jason gestures to Tim, "make sure his cell is numbered with a multiple of three. He'll be more comfortable." The man nods and makes a note.

"Sure," he says.

Jason sighs and watches Tim get into the van, still avoiding looking at anyone.

The man hands Dick the clipboard and is telling him, presumably, to get these forms in by the end of the day. Dick nods, numbly.

He should feel bad, feel awful, Jason thinks.

_You are sending your brother to prison._

The van drives away and Alfred goes back into the house. Then Damian follows.

And it is just Dick and Jason.

"He needs this," Dick says.

"Like I needed it? Like you think I need it now?" Jason hisses.

"No. Not like a criminal."

"Well, brother dear," Jason smiles and he knows it doesn't look like a kind smile, "that's what they'll treat him like. He'll be lucky if he doesn't get worse."

Jason promises himself that he'll go see Tim. He _promises._

He thinks Dick is making the same one.


	12. Chapter 12

Tim hates Arkham. When he gets there, all they do is ask questions. He doesn't answer so they keep asking. By the time they get tired of it, the sun has sunk (Tim's guessing, as he cannot see outside) and Dick has turned in Tim's paperwork.

_Traitortraitortraitor. My brother put me here._

He is put near the front of the prison hospital. Minimum security.

They ask him more questions and he shuts down, stops paying attention. It's easy to ignore doctors. He and doctors haven't every really gotten along and now he is sure he'll never like them.

At least the one's in Gotham.

Apparently, OCD is on his record, because there are plenty bars of soap near a stainless steel, prison-issue sink. If he were a psychologist, he would have tried to minimize his soap stash.

But he knows it was Jason who asked for his cell to be a multiple of three (and it is, it's twenty seven) so he imagines that Jason also requested the soap. His heart squeezes a little. Dick didn't do that for him.

_Dick is the reason I'm here._

He curls up on the metal-framed prison bed. And he sits there and thinks. He is sure he can escape Gotham. He's made sure he can get in and out of areas with heavy locks. The locks on his door were made to keep people out and to practice on.

He smells Conner. It's painful, because he's never smelled the Conner from his mind. The intensity of feeling is making him tremble.

"Why am I here, Conner?"

He hears Conner sigh and feels him sit at the foot of the bed. "I don't know Tim."

"I'm glad you're here."

"Me too."

In sleep Tim dreams of death and dying. But not of others. Of himself.

It is the most peaceful dream he has had since he lost Robin.


	13. Chapter 13

Tim hates Arkham.

He hates it, he hates it, _he hates it._

They didn't wean him off the soap, they took it. To research his reaction, he assumes, because that's what this hospital does. How does variable x affect the patient?

Tim hates Arkham.

He is confident that he can say so, even though it has only been three days.

Conner apologized for not being able to stop the people when they took the soap. Tim knows it's not his fault. It can't be his fault, because he's dead.

Tim is worried, because he has to _remind_ himself that Conner's dead. Before, he _knew_. Now, he feels lost and smothered. He's starting to lose his grip on what he understands to be true. ( _Conner is dead, Conner is dead, Tim, Conner is dead._ )

To make things difficult on the staff, he makes therapy sessions impossible.

They will ask him questions. He will answer in Russian. When they get someone who can speak Russian, he speaks in Arabic. When they find someone that can do that, he speaks Portuguese. They are frustrated. Tim likes it this way.

He tries to minimize his use of soap. He _tries._

But most of the time he can't and he is stuck reflecting on why he is stuck here, what he did to Dick to made it so that his older brother wanted him in here.

But there is a nurse here that gives him soap. She watches while he washes his hands and, when he gets to absorbed by the task, she'll say, "stop."

And Tim will slow to a stop and rinse his hands.

He appreciates her.

But he knows Jason is behind it. She told Tim so.

He wonders if he'll ever be able to stop washing his hands so much.

(Not in this place, Tim thinks. Not in _this_ place.)


	14. Chapter 14

Tim looks worse than he did before, Jason thinks. He's just about as thin, really. Doesn't look like he's gained or lost any weight. But he looks more exhausted, and his shoulders are slouched downward. He appears to be curling in on himself.

And his eyes are focused on the table.

Jason finds this disconcerting. Tim's never been afraid to look someone in the eye. Except maybe Bruce.

Jason can't help but keep glancing at the handcuffs on Tim's wrists.

"I punched a doctor," Tim's says. His voice is raspy. "He, uh, he tried to touch the soap and I... well." He clears his throat. "I really needed to wash my hands so... I. Well, I hit him."

Jason smiles a small smile. "Tough of you, baby B."

Tim pulls the handcuffs off. "And I undid them about twenty minutes ago. Don't tell."

"Secret's safe with me." Jason pauses. "I hear Dick's been to see you. Or, he's tried, anyhow."

Tim purses his lips and stares harder at the white table of the patient conference room. "I don't want to see him. He'll look at me and say, 'Tim, you need this. I'm sorry.'" Tim does a really good impression of Dick's voice. "And I'll say 'me too.' I don't want to see him."

"Thank you for seeing me, then."

"You're welcome." He glances over to the corner of the room and grimaces. "I want... I want to go home, Jason."

He sounds pitiful and small.

All Jason can say is, "I know."


	15. Chapter 15

"Get it out of me," Tim is clawing at his bared chest, leaving bleeding scratches. The staff keep trying to restrain him. They are failing. "Get it _out_ of me!" He is desperate. There is dirt and evil inside of him.

Dead people. Deaddeaddead and it's his fault—

" _Get it out of me_!" Tim is struggling. Bart is terrified. "Conner, _help me._ " His voice rises into a keening wail. He wants to go home he wants Conner to be alive he wants to go home he wants Dick to love him again, oh please—

Bruce is standing near Stephanie, a frown on his face.

_Bruce is here, Bruce is here, he can't be, he's alive, nonono—_

"Make him stop looking at me!" Tim tries to cover his face. A doctor holds his wrists.

"Who, Timothy? Who?"

"Bruce, Bruce, make him stop looking at me, I've tried, I'm trying, _tell him I'm trying—!_ "

Stephanie walks _through_ the staff and holds his face still. "Tim," she says, "stop. You can stop. Calm down. Breathe."

He breathes. It's hyperventilation. If he keeps it up, he'll pass out. Stephanie sighs and Conner takes her place.

"Calm down, man. Calm down." He puts a hand on Tim's head and smooths his hair. The staff stops moving. They watch. "Deep breaths. Sets of three."

In. Pause. Out.

In. Pause. Out.

In. Pause. Out.

Repeat.

He repeats this fifteen times.

And he is no longer about to pass out. His heart is still racing, but he sees one of the doctors putting a syringe back on a cart. He assumes it was filled with sedative. Tim hates sedatives. They make his head feel fuzzy and dizzy.

He is glad the doctors didn't have to use it.

"Timothy?" The doctor from before speaks.

Tim looks at him.

"Are you alright now? Do you see any more delusions?"

Tim doesn't mention Stephanie or Bart or Conner. "Bruce is gone. I'm okay now."

He hears the nurses and other staff talking. He catches "not schizophrenia" and "the scans show nothing."

Tim sits up. The bloody trails left by his nails sting. A nurse applies antiseptic to them, making them sting more. But it is the sting of antibacterial solution, and for that Tim is grateful.

They let him go back to his room, with an escort.

As he settles down to rest, Tim thanks whatever deity may exist that this occurred after Jason's visit. He wouldn't know what to tell him.

He has time to think of something to say for when Jason visits again in two weeks time.

He focuses on the sting of his scratches as he falls into sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

He had never seen the Joker while he was _in_ Arkham. Until today. (Today being one week after the second Jason visit. Explaining the incident with the clawing had been difficult.)

It usually never happens. Seeing the Joker. He moves around when the rest of Arkham isn't. And, usually, they move him while he is strapped to an upright gurney. But today, he is walking past Tim in a straightjacket.

"Oh it's a _new guy_." He says it in that breathy Joker way when he's focusing. "Hello, New Guy. Would you like to hear a joke?"

Tim ignores him and continues walking, his own little chaperone doing the same.

"Ohh, a strong, silent type. If I had a crowbar for every time I've met one of _you_." Tim freezes. "Well, I suppose there would be a lot of dead birds!" And Joker laughs his infamous laugh. Tim is out of his chaperone's reach in moments. And he's not wearing cuffs (he had been a good little patient, yes he had).

Conner stands in his way. Tim leaps over him and uses his elbow to break the Joker's collarbone, much as Jason had tried to do to Tim many times.

And he hits him and hits him and _hits him_ until his chaperone is grabbing his arm and stopping him.

Tim is hyperventilating. He hopes this doesn't become a pattern for him. It gives him a headache.

He stands and stares at his hands. They're trembling. Tim can practically see whiteness travelling up his arms and polluting him. (He's... The Joker's infected him, he's—)

Tim shakes off the arm of his staff member and says, "Don't t-touch me, I'm not clean, don't... it'll get on you too!" He back away from his caretaker and bolts for the showers. He feels sweat breaking out on his forehead.

And he locks himself in. He shouldn't be able to do that, of course.

But he was the expert-hacker Robin. He knows things about computers.

And Tim isn't coming out until he's _clean._


	17. Chapter 17

The hospital calls Dick. Who calls Jason.

"He doesn't want to see me," Dick said. His voice was strained with sadness. "But he'll listen to you." He glanced at Jason. "But I'm going with you. Because, you know, you've kind of lived there before."

It didn't hurt when Dick said that. After all, it was true.

And so here they are, Jason outside the showers. He remembers them. The locks, of course, are in case the entire Asylum needs to go into total lockdown. Jason has caused it before. It doesn't surprise him that Tim got them to lock and _stay_ locked. Tim can do anything that has to do with technology.

Water's running. Jason assumes this has been going on since he got here.

"Mother _fucker._ Wow. What happened?" Dick stands quietly. Listening. Committing this whole conversation to memory.

"Well, we had the Joker out," says one person who's name doesn't matter. Not to Jason anyway. "And Mr. Timothy was out too. And the Joker said something about crowbars and dead birds and he just sort of... well. Lost it, I suppose. He broke the Joker's collarbone."

Jason blinks. "Hardcore." He says. "Wow. Son of a _bitch_ , go Tim."

"Not something you should encourage," Dick says offhandedly. Jason shrugs and gets close to the shower doors. The staff step away from him.

_Don't worry ladies and gents, Jason's been a good boy. Hasn't come back for a year._

"Tim?"

There is no response.

"Tim, I know you know it's me, so I'm not going to insult you by saying 'It's Jason.' I'm asking you to let me if for a second so I can help." He reaches into his back pocket. "Brought some soap from home. Smells better than Arkham-issue, I can promise. Probably kills more bacteria too."

There's sounds of movement. "It does," comes from the other side of the doors as they slide open. Jason enters. Tim's still in his clothes, wet from head to toe. He is sliding down a slippery slope. Jason doesn't like it.

He hands Tim the bar of soap.

"The Joker infected me," Tim says. "I can see it. There's... I'm turning white and... he got me Jason. But I couldn't let him mention that. It wasn't fair. And, Conner tried to stop me, but I—"

He stops, surprised. "Well. Conner's dead. But. I..." He washes his hands and arms absently with the soap Jason brought. "It's complicated." He looks at Jason. "I still want to go home."

Jason wants to tell him that he's sorry, but he doubts that's going to happen with the latest stunt Tim pulled. Doctors and nurses and staff members and guards (they really don't need this many people for one scared kid, really) enter. A nurse administers sedatives.

"I'm not _doing_ anything what are the _sedatives_ for..." His voice trails off and he looks at Jason. He slumps down with a sigh.

"Thank you... uh. Mr. Todd," a nurse said.

The one Jason asked to watch Tim follows behind as one of the guards turns off the running showerhead.

"So, Dickie," Jason asks as he walks out of the showers. "Still think he needs Arkham?"

Dick says nothing, biting his lower lip.

"Because he probably will, after that shot. That was pretty high grade sedative for Tim's weight." Jason grins. "I would know. They made that tranq for Bane."

Jason didn't tell Dick that he had once been so pumped on adrenaline, it'd taken two to get Jason back to his cell.

Tim, however, didn't even need half that syringe.


	18. Chapter 18

Jason is excellent at being angry. And right now, rage is rolling around in his gut. The two bottles he's holding could crack, but he's hoping they don't. He wants the rage to stagnate; at least until he gets to Tim's room. He needs to yell at Tim's "doctors." Jason's been visiting for two days and Tim's been unconscious for both of them.

But his rage dries up as he gets to Tim's temporary room. But he is not in his bed. He pushed the door open and walks in.

"Tim?" They better not have put him somewhere else, motherfuckers—

"I'm hiding Jason." Tim's voice comes from beneath the bed.

"From who?" Jason does his best to sound patient.

"Conner and Stephanie and Bart. They follow me. And talk to me..." There's a shifting sound. "I talk back. It's hard to remember that... they're dead. I forget. Often."

Jason sits down, the floor cold on his rear end. This hospital isn't helping. Go fucking figure. He puts down one of the bottles. There's another shifting sound and Tim squirms out from under the bed.

He's thinner. Jason doesn't like it.

"Root beer?" He asks. Jason allows himself a smile.

"Shit yeah." He opens his own bottle as Tim opens his.

"...how do you know... my favorite soda?" Tim takes a swig and rubs his eyes. His hands are pink and healing. The lack of washing for two days has made them look a little scabby.

"Uh," Jason looks away. "That one time I almost put you in the hospital, I felt like shit. So, I asked Dick what your favorite drink was. I meant, you know, liquor—"

"I was seventeen—"

"Whatever, right? But he said root beer."

"...you gave Alfred seven cases." Jason hears surprise. And perhaps happiness.

"I was really fucking sorry, okay?"

Jason thinks he sees Tim smile. A little bit. Maybe. So he pushes whatever rage he harbors lower still, getting up to push the door closed and locking it. Jason wants to have an unmonitored conversation with his... with Tim, at least once in this hellhole.

Then, he thinks, he'll figure out a way to get Tim out of here.


	19. Chapter 19

Tim is happy to be washing his hands again. They had kept him in that room for far longer than he'd wanted and the floor in there (under the bed) was rather dusty. He decided not to mention it because they would probably think it another symptom of whatever-he-had.

"The sun," Conner says from behind him. Tim doesn't stop washing his hands but glances over his shoulder.

"What?"

"The sun. You need to reach the sun. I mean, man, look at you. You've never been in _real_ light. Gotham daytime doesn't count, by the way. That's hardly sunlight." Tim looks back at the sink. "The sun has always done me a lot of good. Why not you too? Maybe it'll help."

"He's right you know you do look awfully pale have you ever thought about sun tanning or going to the beach or something—" Stephanie, presumably, has shut him up.

Tim shuts off the faucet.

Something tightens up in his mind and _squeezes._ It hurts, a little bit. But there's a thought there, a thought he can focus on. _Get out of Arkham, get to the sun._

There's a tiny part of Tim that doesn't think this makes sense. But that little part of Tim that protested anything had been getting smaller since before he'd been institutionalized.

He runs through a series of plans, pacing, six steps from one end of his room to the other and back. It's the ninth plan he decides on. It happens to be the simplest form that doesn't involve hacking into every single lock in Arkham. Avoiding that is the best idea, just in case he messed up a code and let out Gotham's worst psychopaths.

Tim now has a plan to get out of Arkham. His heart is racing and it is loud. He hopes no one else can hear it. (Killer Croc can probably hear it.)

He thinks that perhaps it's time to organize a therapy session (they had stopped trying since his hallucination of Bruce).

He turns to thank Conner, because now he has a goal, a _purpose._ But Conner isn't there. Or Steph or Bart.

But Tim doesn't worry. They always come back.


	20. Chapter 20

Tim recites the "Walrus and the Carpenter" to the doctor who is sitting with him. His cuffed hands sit on the white table. After the incident with the Joker, he had to wear cuffs everywhere. He supposes this is reasonable, but he doesn't have to like it.

"I memorized it in the sixth grade," Tim says, "just to prove that I could."

"And what does it mean to you now?" All the questions had been like this.

"Betrayal. That's what the Walrus and the Carpenter do to the oysters, right? Betray them. And that's why I'm here." Tim smiles his wry smile and looks away.

The doctor looks upset and reaches out to pat him on the knee. Tim sheds the cuffs and pulls him forward, then knocks the man unconscious. He takes the doctor's ID badges for the locks.

Then he runs.

 _The sun,_ he thinks, _I can reach the sun and I'll be freefreefree—_

He makes it through two doors (there are five total, including the main door) before guards start to respond. Most have stun guns, a couple have tranq guns. One or two have guns.

Tim slips past the first few, takes out a few more. The worst they'll have is a headache. He knows this. But a small twinge of guilt settles near his abdomen.

He uses the ID badge to get out of the main door (because it's after nine at night and the front door locks down) and it out into the night. It's windy and a little chilly, but Tim doesn't stop running. His lungs and legs are screaming for a break as he scales and gets past the main gate.

He doesn't stop running even after. He makes for the bridge—running, running— and he'll be free.

"Come on, Tim. You got this." Conner's flying beside and slightly above him.

He's so close to freedom he can taste it.

_Get out of Arkham, get to the sun._


	21. Chapter 21

Jason is awfully glad he has his motorcycle. He's even more glad that he brought along on this patrol. He is speeding toward the bridge to Arkham Island, because Dick just trusts him too damn _much._

" _Jason, Tim has gotten out of Arkham."_

" _Fuck. On my way."_

Well. Jason trusts himself too much around Tim.

 _I'm sorry,_ he thinks as the wind messes up his hair. _I'm sorry that I kicked the shit out of you when you were with the Titans. I'm sorry for kicking the shit out of you for no reason. And I am really sorry for trying to kill you when Bruce died. I'm really, really sorry. So please, please,_ please, _be okay._

The cycle skids because he sees someone climbing up one of the bridge support structures. Jason's so sure it's Tim and he climbs up the one next to it, climbs fast. And fuck it all, because the wind is awful. It gets worse the higher he goes.

He reaches the top forty-seven seconds after Tim does and Tim is inching toward the edge.

"What the fuck are you doing, Tim?"

Tim stops. "Trying to reach the sun," he says, though the wind carries his voice away. "And... if I can't, at least there's light in hell." He looks wired. Intense. Scared.

"Stop, Tim." Jason holds out his hands placatingly. Or he hopes he's holding him that way. He's never had to placate before. "Come on. I'll... I'll take you home, yeah?"

"I'm _not_ going back to Arkham!" Even with the wind, his voice gets louder and higher pitched.

"I won't take you back to Arkham," Jason says. He means it. Arkham ruined parts of him. He knows it ruined parts of Tim too. He doesn't have to see Tim's hands to know that the skin is ugly and raw and peeling.

He doesn't hear Tim this time, but he sees his lips move. "Promise?" They say.

Jason's throat closes up, so all he can do is nod. Tim's shoulders sag and he looks toward the water, but moves away.

A gust of wind, a really fucking tough one, _pushes_ forward. Jason braces himself. But Tim no longer has the weight to brace anything (because they make you eat at Arkham, but they don't make you eat _enough_ if you don't want to).

Tim is pushed, a little, slips, and is pushes further. Off the edge of the support.

Jason pulls out his grappler and _goes._

 _Listen. God. I am really, really, really, really fucking sorry that I tried to kill him and beat him up and whatever the hell. I'm more sorry than anyone ever was. So, if you exist, come the fuck_ on. _Let me save him. I... I_ will _save him._

And he does.


	22. Chapter 22

Tim has nightmares. Jason knew that already, of course. But it's really noticeable as Jason glances at him, curled up in the passenger seat of the, uh, borrowed car. He's twitching and moaning, anguished and sad. Stars have the audacity to twinkle outside the car window.

" _At least there's light in hell."_

Tim wakes up and it's three fifty-two in the morning. Jason's still driving and he's so terribly glad he saved Tim, even though Tim has nightmares and is a little bit lost right now.

"Nngh. You don't have a car," he says. He sounds tired. Looks worse.

"Borrowed. Nothing to worry about. Go back to bed, baby B." Tim grumbles, says something like "I'm _going_ to bed Conner" and falls back asleep. The nightmares come back in about twenty minutes. Jason tries to ignore the sounds because really there's nothing he can do.

He _hates_ that feeling.

When Tim wakes up the second time, Jason has parked the car (illegally) on a beach in Vermont. Tim stirs again and wakes up, blinking. He sits up, quickly, grabbing his head because of the blood rushing out of it.

And he steps outside.

Jason follows, just in case.

Tim, still in his Arkham outfit, opens his arms wide as if to embrace the yellow-white sunlight. The sun is warm, Jason notes. And it's not washed-out, ugly, dark Gotham sun. It's lovely and bright and... there's feeling. Jason can't blame Tim for wanting to hold it.

(Jason normally isn't this poetic, but it really does look like Tim is trying to hold the sunlight closer to him.)

"One day," Tim's voice is soft, and he's looking up at the sky, the lake waters lapping at the sand. "One day, I'd like to live somewhere sunny. If I get better." His arms drop to his side.

 _When,_ Jason corrects. _When you get better._

"Okay," Jason says. "I'll go wherever you do."

Tim tenses. Relaxes. Takes a deep breath. "Like. Florida. Or Texas."

"California?" Jason suggests.

"Not California. Too... too many people." Tim thinks, tilts his head. "Australia, maybe."

"Okay," Jason says. He meant what he said. He will go wherever Tim goes. And it hits him. Hard. So hard, he takes a step back. It seems like Tim notices, because he turns around.

Jason is... he's...

_Fuck. Fuck. I love you. ...shit._

And he's never wanted to kiss a lost person so badly (because Tim isn't crazy, just lost). And, one day, he will kiss Tim. When Tim's better. Perhaps he'll kiss him on a beach, in the sun.

Tim's eyes flick to over Jason's shoulder. "The sun does help," he says. "I like the sun." He's tapping his left index finger against his left thigh is sets of three (and Jason was right, his hands look terrible, scratched with Tim's fingernails, probably because of the minimized soap).

He's talking to Conner.

Jason moves forward, touches Tim's shoulder.

"Let's go, baby bird. I'm sure Dick would like to see you." His eyes focus on Jason's face and he looks ashamed.

He clears his throat. "Can we come back? Soon?"

"Sure. Why the fuck not." Tim smiles, because Jason sounds like himself.

"Will you return the car?"

Jason smiles, guiding Tim to the passenger door. "Yeah. Sure."

Tim opens the door, and shuts his eyes tightly, massaging his temples.

"Hey, Jason?"

"Mm?" Jason slides into the driver's seat. He's going to _try_ and make it back before someone misses this car.

"Conner... Conner is dead, right?"

"Yeah."

Tim sighs. "Just... reminding myself. That's all."

Jason starts the car and drives back to Gotham.


	23. Chapter 23

Dick is sitting on the large steps leading to Wayne Manor's front door. The sun has risen, but it's hiding behind dark clouds. He is waiting, impatiently, for Jason to show up. He doesn't think the news will be good. But he hopes it will be.

Damian's sitting next to him, as he has been since the sunrise when he realized Dick was out here. He doesn't mention Damian's concern, because it will ruin the moment and the boy will go back inside.

"—I returned the damn car, okay? Leave it." Jason. Dick stands.

"Technically," this voice was much quieter, strained, "you shouldn't have taken it in the first place."

"Wasn't going to carry an unconscious you on a motorcycle. That's fucking _stupid_ not to mention dangerous." The two, Jason and Tim, come through the gates of the manor. Tim is in dirty Arkham clothes and Jason is wearing his leather and his boots.

Tim stops walking first when he sees Dick and Damian, though the younger of the two has moved away from Dick on the stoop as if Tim would have pointed out their closeness. Jason stops, and takes a step backwards so that he's even with Tim.

He sort of stands there, looking everywhere but at Dick. Then, their eyes lock and Tim holds out his arms awkwardly.

Dick rushes forward and embraces his little brother (Tim had offered _hug_!) and picks him up. He's light as a feather and unbelievably bony. But he hugs him tighter.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, God, Tim, I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking, I thought—"

"S'okay," Tim says as Dick lets go. "But... I don't... let's not talk about it."

Dick nods and pushes Tim forward. "Alfred will be happy to see you and he's made a room and—"

It is then that Tim starts to cry. Jason moves forward as Dick hugs Tim again.

And his thin shoulders are shaking because he's sobbing now and Dick isn't really sure what to do at this point. Dick passes Tim to Jason who scoops him up as if it's the most natural thing he's ever done. Dick doesn't say anything. Damian doesn't either. Dick notes that this is a good thing, progress, and he'll need to praise the boy for it later.

There's a lot that needs to be talked about (such as, for example, when Jason and Tim _happened_ ) and things that needed to be smoothed out. Wounds needed patching.

But, really, all that could wait right now because Tim was back.

And Dick had finally found someone who could help him.


	24. Chapter 24

It feels weird, being carried by Jason. He sort of wants to laugh, giggle maybe, and he feels like gravity has perhaps stopped working (then again, that could be because he's too thin). But regardless, he's pretty happy.

He sees the file that he gave Dick on the table as they enter the house. Tim's stomach drops, twists, protests.

" _You don't believe me, do you?"_

He shakes a little. "Jason," he says quietly, "Jason, put me down." His stomach is knotting and he feels sick. The room swims. That folder. Dick hadn't even taken the time to _read_ it. So, maybe he saw... maybe he saw things, but he wasn't wrong.

Not about Bruce.

No amount of rest would get him to admit that Bruce was dead. Because he wasn't.

Jason complies but looks concerned. "You okay?" He amends this, as if he caught it in his mind that this was perhaps an obvious question. "What's wrong?" He says.

Tim is already running towards the bathroom.

He heaves up the meager contents of his stomach. Two months, three weeks, two days, and that file was unread.

Because, of course, Tim was crazy. What did he know?

He stands, flushes, and washes his hands. He lathers the soap on thickly, because this isn't Arkham, this is Wayne soap and he can use as much as he likes.

"Nice escape, bro." Conner says.

"You almost ran as fast as me!" Bart adds.

Tim can feel Stephanie looking at him. "Maybe they could have helped you," she says finally. Conner snorts, but says nothing. Tim thinks his spine is tightening. It hurts.

Jason walks in. Tim thinks that perhaps he was waiting out there, which is polite.

"Hey, baby B." Tim rinses his hands, likes the feel of the water and reaches for the soap again. "Dick says that there's a doctor Bruce knew that he's sure can help. He might be right. But if you want, I can, uh, sit with you. When he comes tomorrow, I mean."

Jason takes Tim's hands and begins to wash them. It should feel odd, unclean, but it doesn't. It's... relaxing.

"I'd like that," Tim says. His voice sounds raw from vomiting. "Thank you."

Tim thinks that maybe Jason doesn't want him to see, but Jason smiles.


	25. Chapter 25

Tim's in the kitchen, because Alfred had started hovering the moment Tim left the bathroom. Jason picks up the file that caused Tim's reaction. He is surprised to find it still there and it is covered in dust. He takes it to the living room, sits down, and begins to read.

He hears things, sometimes, from the kitchen. Things like, "I'm really not hungry" and "you really should eat something, Master Timothy."

But he's focused on the contents of the file. First, there's a photo of an old looking tablet that has a bat symbol inscribed upon it. The next are photos of a bat symbol cave drawing. Then, newspaper clippings of bat drawings dating back to centuries before. Tim had scribbled notes on many of these printouts.

 _Lost in time,_ says one note, pointing to a newpaper picture of the bat symbol on another cave wall.

The evidence is really quite incredible and he feels even more shocked that Dick hadn't even bothered to look at it. If he had, Arkham wouldn't have been on his mind at all. Jason thinks about it and realizes why Bruce chose Tim on the first place. The kid was a _genius_ at detective work.

Jason stands and moves to find Dick, who is standing outside the kitchen, presumably listening to Alfred offer food while Tim refuses it. Jason holds out the file.

"How come you didn't take a look at this? Tim's is _on_ to something. He even scribbled notes. Drew fucking _flow charts._ "

Dick's eyebrows hide in his hair. "I'd forgotten about it. I've been patrolling with Damian almost every night and during the daytime I'd either help out with Wayne Enterprises, since Tim was busy, or I'd... wait around Arkham. It... there's really something in there?"

Jason wants to hit him. He wants to beat some sense into Dick because he left the file there, the file that Dick sent Tim to Arkham over, the thing that made him "over the edge."

But Jason doesn't hit him, just sort of stares and thinks about the things that Tim doesn't mention, the things in Arkham that perhaps were left out of his records, like the side effects of the Bane tranquilizer. Dick finally takes the folder.

"You have to read it."

"I will."

"Like... now. It's not like you're doing anything important at the moment."

Dick smiles a small smile and says, "you're right. That's a first for you?"

"Ha, ha, ha. Golly, big brother, you sure know how to make a _damn_ good joke." He rolls his eyes to show just how much he thinks Dick needs a good beating. "Now go read the file."

Dick smiles wider and squeezes Jason's bicep, taking his place in the living room. Jason finds Tim in the kitchen, pushing food around like a child, but cocking his head to listen to something else.

Jason takes a seat next to him but says nothing. He rests the back of his hand right hand against the back of Tim's left. Tim looks at him, as if he's surprised he's there, but he stays silent.

A small smile rests on his lips.


	26. Chapter 26

Damian cannot sleep. What he should be doing is going out on patrol, but Grayson wants to be well rested for meeting Drake's new doctor. So, he heads down the stairs and hopes that perhaps something will be in the kitchen, since Drake eats like a monk.

He hears the television going as he passes. He does a double take, because _Drake_ is sitting in there, watching a blasted _cartoon._

"What are you doing?" He asks.

Drake looks up and smiles, looking a little embarrassed (Damian thinks that he may have been watching television with Conner). Damian takes a step back, not out of fear, but out of surprise. Tim, while much thinner, suddenly looks as he had in all the pictures Grayson has of them together and Damian is confused.

"I'm watching Scooby-Doo."

"What is that?" Damian gets over his surprise and sits in the chair farthest away from his mortal enemy, his predecessor.

"It's the cartoon that inspired me to become a detective. Granted, they don't deal with murderers and psychopaths, but it's the same principle." Drake looks a few years younger, and Damian can picture him watching TV up late, perhaps with Grayson, enjoying a talking dog.

"This show seems ridiculous."

"You need to learn to appreciate small things, Damian. Just _watch_ the show. There's a late night marathon going on."

And Damian does watch.

When the sun starts creeping through the windows, he hears Grayson coming down the stairs.

"My name is Keri, I'm so very, fly, oh my, it's a little bit scary—"

"Grayson!" Damian calls as quietly as he can. "Hush, for once in your life! Drake is sleeping" though twitching terribly from nightmares and making noises like a fox caught in a trap, "and _I_ am watching television."

Grayson pops his head into the room and grins. "Scooby Doo, really?"

"Shut up. It's interesting. Go practice your circus things or whatever. I'm occupied."

Grayson laughs and laughs. Damian doesn't care. The dog makes a better detective than Grayson anyway.

(He thinks that maybe later he'll tell Grayson about Drake's smile.)


	27. Chapter 27

Tim tugs at the shirt draped around him. He uses the verb "draped" because, even though the shirt is his (he left it here when he left the manor after his forced retirement), it is too large for him. He hadn't thought he'd lost that much weight.

His jeans are being held up by a belt that is cinched rather far. Tim remembers he should eat more. However, he's never hungry.

But his hands always itch. In the past twenty minutes, he has washed his hands six times. As he stands to go wash his hands another three times, the doorbell rings. His stomach drops in nervousness. Alfred answers the door and brings in an old man that reminds Tim of Alfred in the kindness of his face. The doctor has far more hair.

(He makes a note not to point this out to Alfred.)

His hands burn.

The doctor walks forward, smiles, and holds out his hand. "I'm Doctor Wilson. Mister Wayne trusted me to be his therapist when Alfred here recommended it. He trusted me with his secrets." He wiggles his gray eyebrows. "Such as that of Batman. I assure you that all you say to me is just as secret Mister Drake-Wayne."

"Tim," he says, shaking the man's hand, hoping he doesn't catch the dirt that's surely there. "Just... I'm just Tim."

"Tim, then. How about we go and chat in a sitting room or something? I'm sure Mister Wayne has one. This house is too large to be without one."

His nerves are eating at him as Tim follows the doctor. Jason's behind him. He's comfortable with that. But Conner and Steph and Bart are also there. And he thinks that sometimes he sees Bruce out of the corner of his eye.

Dr. Wilson sits down and Tim sits as well. Jason sits to Tim's left. The doctor looks at Jason, then at Tim, and says nothing about it.

"So, Tim," Dr. Wilson smiles again. He has a very kind smile. "Tell me your life story. Start from when you first came into the business of detective work."

Tim shifts. Wants to wash his hands. Pictures white walls and doctors with clipboards and sedatives. He takes a deep breath.

And speaks.

He tells how he figured out who Dick was by the quadruple somersault that Nightwing did. He'd seen Dick do that at Haley's circus once and Dick is the only one that can do it. So he figured that Bruce was Batman. He had confronted Dick and Dick recommended him to Batman. But he'd said no. So Tim has said he needed a Robin, forcing Batman to accept him.

Then he kept talking. He dusted over his encounter with Jason, the calls of "Pretender" and "Replacement."

Then when he was pulled out by his dad. The death of Stephanie. Then his dad. Then Conner. Then Bart. Then Bruce. (He also omits the massive brawl he'd had with Jason after Bruce's death.)

Then he'd lost Robin.

Robin was what tied him and all his loved ones together. And then he lost that link and... he slipped, fell, and died. Or, he would have liked to.

But then, in an expedition to find something, he'd discovered Bruce was alive. And he proved it, but Dick didn't believe him—

Dick didn't believe him—

Dick didn't—!

Tim didn't realize he'd been talking so fast.

"I need," his throat is dry, "I need to wash my hands." Dr. Wilson nods and Jason watches him go. Tim runs. He's ashamed, but doesn't stop until he gets to the bathroom.

He hadn't realized he'd been crying until he looked at his red-eyed reflection. Perhaps he is used to seeing through tears. Maybe he just doesn't notice his triggers anymore. Perhaps he has too many.

He washes his hands, counts to one hundred eighty, and washes them again.

Conner is telling him that it's okay. The smell of him is strong. The—delusion—is taking over more sensory portions of his mind. He doesn't like it. And at the same time he's afraid to lose it.

(He wonders if hiring the doctor was a good idea.)


	28. Chapter 28

Dr. Wilson is an observant man and Timothy Drake-Wayne is terribly obvious in his stress. He doesn't imagine that the boy was always this way, but, as he learned, there were lots of branches to hit on the way down from the top of Tim's tree.

The man—Jason Todd, yes?—watches the door Tim has just exited from.

"He is not normally so straightforward, is he?"

Jason, who had been sitting facing Tim somewhat, now faced Dr. Wilson straight on. His blue-green eyes were harder than flint (which, as the doctor noticed before, did not happen around his patient).

"No," Jason said. "He isn't. Took the people in Arkham on wild goose chase for language experts." Jason smirks. But then his face becomes sort of angry. Then he sets his jaw and looks very angry. "He doesn't want to go back, you know. So, he'll tell you stuff, but you're stressing him out."

Of course the doctor knew the stressing out part. But he had been unaware of his institution at Arkham. That information had been left out.

"Oh? Arkham."

"Dick's brilliant idea... Do I look like a goddamn patient? Stop asking me questions."

Dr. Wilson holds up his right index finger. "One more."

"...fine. Go. Whatever."

"Your relationship with Tim, before and now."

He clenches his fists and all sorts of expressions flit across his face. "...not answering. That's none of your fucking business unless Tim wants to tell you."

"Which I don't." Jason twitches and Dr. Wilson blanches. He supposes that's the beauty of being trained by Batman.

This Tim is different. He flinches away from something as he sits down and Jason's an open book again. Tim has closed himself off, shut down. Strange.

Perhaps the threat of Arkham was a factor in Tim's speaking. But Dr. Wilson thinks that maybe there are pieces of Tim. There are pieces that desperately want to be cured and are willing to ask for help. But then, and it seems these are the dominant pieces, there are those that want to solve him problems on his own.

That is never the way to be healed.

Tim looks away and says, "I'm done today."

The doctor nods. "Of course. We'll begin having sessions every other day." Too many, of course, would cause Tim to refuse to see him at all, from what the doctor gathered.

Dr. Wilson walks to the door. Tim and Jason stay behind. Richard meets him at the door and smiles.

"How much will it be, Doc?"

"I'm not going to charge you a dime," he says. He's appalled that Richard thought he'd charge. "Tim needs help. I'll be here to help him. I'm sure Bruce, may his soul rest in peace," Richard flinches, as if there is something that the doctor doesn't know (maybe Bruce is alive, as Tim wants to believe, but then, that ridiculous), "would want his children to be happy."

Richard smiles and lets the doctor walk out the door. Dr. Wilson hopes that he can help Tim. Arkham must have been a torture for him.

It is then that Dr. Wilson sees the newspaper at the street corner.

He thinks that the next session will be a tough one.


	29. Chapter 29

"Master Jason, I would not go out that door." Alfred is hanging up the phone as he tells this to Jason. Jason was reaching for the doorknob to go get some root beer after that "healing session" (but he liked it too, okay? It wasn't _just_ for Tim).

"Why the hell not?"

"I just got a call from Mater Tim's doctor," he said. "And, apparently, an article in the newspaper has gotten some people riled up. Enough to, how shall we say, gather around the gates."

"...what."

Alfred sighed. "It's exactly how it sounds, I'm afraid."

"No, what _article_?"

Dick comes in through the back door and places a paper on the table. "This one, Jay."

_**Wayne Heir Escapes from Arkham Asylum** _

_Timothy Drake-Wayne escaped from Arkham Asylum early yesterday morning under circumstances unknown. The city was not even aware that the young heir had been institutionalized there—_

Jason stopped reading and looked at the picture. It was a photo taken from a frame of security footage in Arkham. Tim was headbutting a guard.

"...fuck." He looked for the author. Victoria Vale. "Double fuck."

"There was someone in the backyard," Tim says, sneaking up behind them. Apparently, he had gone to the backyard after the doctor left. "Or, well..." He looks ashamed. "Someone was peeking over the gate and they... saw me. Talking to..." Tim sort of trails off and Jason feels his chest tightening. "No one. I wasn't talking to... anyone that they could see."

Tim sees the newspaper that Jason is holding. He tries to press it to his chest but Tim sees the headline.

"Wayne Heir Escapes from Arkham," he reads. "That person was a reporter, wasn't he..."

Dick looks down. "Probably."

"...I'm sorry. I'm... I'm sorry, I wasn't all here and I thought Stephanie _was_ here since she was Robin for a little while, I didn't..." Tim stops and squeezes his eyes shut.

Jason pulls him close, even while Dick was reaching out. "S'okay, Tim. It's okay. No one blames you. I've got you. So. Just. Stay here. Okay?" Because Jason's going to go outside and fix this problem and then he's going to go out and fix Victoria Vale (because he's heard about her. One of Bruce's jilted ex-lovers if he remembers correctly).

Tim says nothing in response, just heads upstairs. He thinks he hears a door slam. Jason guesses it's the bathroom door and that Tim will lock himself in there. He knows he's right when he hears the water running. He needs to make this quick, because this just set whatever progress that session made backwards.

Jason wrenches the door open.

Dick comes with him.

Jason walks forward, briskly, and he's sure he looks intimidating. He stands at the gate, arms crossed, hip cocked out furiously. Reporters are hovering around. Jason sees the red head of Vicki Vale. Dick stands there, more open, looking far kinder than Jason could never manage.

Before they can say anything (and he sees Vicki's mouth opening), Jason says, "What the fuck do you want?"

And the cameras begin flashing.


	30. Chapter 30

Tim has been showering for twenty-one minutes. He washes his hands for another three. Then, he presses his back against the bathroom door and holds his head in his hands.

"It's okay, Tim." Stephanie kneels before him.

"I'm going to get my family so much bad publicity."

_I should have jumped._

Stephanie opens her mouth, probably to tell him comforting lies or something, but Tim hears the door open and slam downstairs. He listens.

"That is _not_ the way to deal with the press, Jason!" Dick.

"How would you know how to _deal_ with anything, you self-righteous prick!" Jason. "This shitstorm is all your fault anyway! _You_ underestimated Tim's anguish over all those deaths, _you_ took Robin away from him, _you_ refused to believe Bruce was alive, and _you_ put him in Arkham! This is _your_ fault, not mine! So don't act all high and mighty with me!"

Tim opens the bathroom door, guilt eating at his stomach.

" _I'm_ not the one that beat him close to death a few times. How do you know that my mistakes are the only triggers, you _arrogant_ son of a—" Tim catches the sound of flesh hitting flesh. And he can picture an all-out brawl on the foyer floor.

He races to the bottom of the stairs— _it's my fault, not yours, please stop—_ and moves to stop them. He shoves himself between them, because it's all his fault this his happening because he let all those things crush him and ruin him. It's his fault. It is then that he feels a fist connecting with his cheek and realizes that he's on the floor, a decent distance away from the fighting ground. His face hurts.

"... _motherfucker_. Tim, I'm... Jesus, don't get in the— _fuck._ " He gathers that Jason was the one that hit him. Besides, the strength of the punch was indication enough. He'd felt that fist plenty of times against his face.

He rubs his jaw and stumbles a little upon standing, the world tilting sharply to the left.

" _Damn_ it Jason—"

"Just stop." Tim says. He feels a little blood in his mouth. Swallows. "It's not either of your faults. So, _stop_." Tim knows his face will bruise. He doesn't like the feeling. He likes the fact that Dick and Jason were punching each other even less. He is glad, however, that the punch hasn't made him lisp yet.

But he is tired. Terribly, wretchedly tired.

He's going to ruin his family's reputation. He caused Dick and Jason to start a fight. And reporters are more than likely camping outside the house because of him.

_I should have jumped._

He steps away as Jason reaches for him and he ducks under Dick's arm. He climbs the stairs and fatigue eats at his bones. _I should have jumped._ He enters his room, shuts the door, and curls under his covers. He won't sleep, hardly ever sleeps in bed, but he can pretend to be out of existence for awhile.

He hears the door open, but the person there doesn't step into the room. Maybe Jason thinks he's asleep, or thinks he's angry (because there's a ninety percent chance it's Jason at the door). Tim will let him think either. He doesn't want to talk right now. Not to Jason, not to Conner, not to anyone.

He focuses on his swelling cheek. The pain keeps him awake. The daytime slides into darkness (he can tell because the tinting above the covers changes) and Tim slips out of bed and back downstairs. He turns on the TV and watches the news.

The nine o'clock story is Jason Todd speaking to the press.


	31. Chapter 31

Tim holds a pack of ice to his cheek, a pack that he had gotten while the news reporter at the station introduced the current topic. "Earlier today," she says, "a swarm of reporters crowded outside Wayne Manor..."

After she speaks, it cuts to a scene of Tim talking to himself. He had been talking to Stephanie. But seeing himself on screen, talking to air, he feels shame and embarrassment creep up the back of his neck.

Then, the scene they had shown at the beginning of the program appears. It is Jason.

"What the fuck do you want?" Television-Jason says. Dick is looking around on screen, as If ashamed to be there. Reporters start buzzing with questions. Jason looks, points, "You. With the red hair. What do _you_ have to bother us about?"

"You're harboring an escapee, Mister Todd," she had done her research, it seemed. "Are you going to return him to the asylum?"

All the other news people seemed to agree with this question and silenced. Jason moved forward, grabbed the bars to the gates, and shook them. "Do you like having your cage rattled? Do you like living under perpetual sedation? Oh, I'm sorry, you wouldn't fucking _know_ , would you?"

He shakes the bars again. Tim thinks the person with the camera is backing up. "So, no, we're not sending him back to Arkham, _Vicki_. And if any of you creep around this house like goddamn roaches to get footage of Tim, I'll find you, and you'll regret it. Period. Because Tim's not the diagnosed sociopath. I am."

He walks away and the scene cuts back to the woman who speaks more about Jason and Tim. But Tim stopped paying attention, really, because his heart was tightening, an odd feeling bubbling up in his ribcage.

"Jason Todd, huh?" Tim jumps a little and sees Conner on the other couch, looking bitter.

"What?"

"You love _Jason Todd_? Really?" He sounds more contemptuous this time. "Of all the people on this Earth, you choose Jason Todd? The one that beat the shit out of you God _knows_ how many times, and you love _that_ guy?"

Stephanie's sitting next to him, looking placating. "He's just hurt, that's all, Tim. It's really good that you found someone—"

"I wouldn't _mind_ someone! As long as it's not Jason Todd! I'd put up with Damian before Jason. This is ridiculous. And insane."

Tim feels offended. "Jason's a good person. An _honest_ person. And... he's changed. He hasn't been out patrolling to kill in weeks—"

"Because he's too busy babysitting you! Maybe you _are_ crazy. Because what are you going to do when he doesn't love you too? What then, Tim?"

Tim's head hurts. His chest hurts. His cheek and stomach hurt. And his hands itch.

He looks at them, the peeling skin, the redness, and the more or less perpetual ooze of clear liquid from the always rubbed-off skin.

He puts his hands, palm down, under his thighs. "Maybe I am," he whispers. "Maybe I am crazy."

But the giddiness in his chest that he felt when he saw Jason defending him didn't go away. If anything, it got stronger.


	32. Chapter 32

Drake is talking to himself. From what he can hear, Drake is now an emotional mess. Damian doesn't mean to see him like this, but he does. He thinks that perhaps Drake may be going backwards instead of forwards. He is arguing and it appears that he has been for a majority of the night. There are sounds of whimpering as Damian hovers outside Drake's new comfort zone (or, rather, the living room).

"Stop talking," Damian hears. It is a whisper, but the house is quiet and it carries in watery light of the early morning. "Stop talking, please, stop talking."

Damian wants to step in there, wants to say something, but all he is doing is standing at listening. It feels evil. Dirty. Wrong.

The murmurs get quieter and Damian starts picking up pieces. "Tainted, tainted—...too good for me—...stop talking that way—... _stop talking stop talking—"_

Jason is suddenly behind him, past him, into the room.

"Stay away, don't touch me, Jason, please, don't touch me, please..."

Damian stands and he listens.

"Your bruise is looking better," Todd says. He doesn't think he's ever heard him speak so soothingly. "What's wrong, Tim?" The way he says that makes it sound like "whose ass do I need to kick?"

"Don't touch me, don't touch me, pleasepleaseplease—"

"Tim, talk to me. I'm here, you just have to talk to me."

Damian wants to walk away. This is getting private, personal. This feels sacred. But he doesn't move.

"I couldn't sleep, Conner was talking, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, stay away from me, Jason—" Drake's voice is getting shrill and scared.

Damian rushes back up the stairs and into his room. Drake, he thinks, is losing his mind. Damian had always thought that when people lose themselves, it is sudden and then they are evil. It is cut and dry, the way Damian likes things. Who should live and who should die. Life is simple.

Was simple.

_Why is he getting worse? How do people get worse?_

He doesn't understand mental deterioration. He doesn't understand how Drake can be healed if he is in so much pain.

Damian realizes that he doesn't understand a lot of things. He hates this realization. Hates Drake for making him realize this.

(He instantly feels bad for thinking that.)

He doesn't come out of his room until the afternoon.


	33. Chapter 33

It's five o'clock in the afternoon and Damian has just left his room while Tim is still holed up in his. Jason really needs to smoke. How long has it been since he's craved a cigarette this badly? Months, maybe. He hadn't thought nicotine worked like that.

But, then, his brain had been focusing on other things.

"What are you doing, Jason?" Jason doesn't move from his place on the couch. In fact, he ignores Dick completely. That _damn_ woman and her article. Was it something Jason had said to the press? Is that what he needed to apologize to Tim for? Because he was _not_ apologizing for it. He's say that maybe he should have put it better, but those parasites fucking _deserved_ to be threatened.

"Where's Tim?" Dick asks instead.

"Fucking Christ," Jason whispers to himself and sits up. "In his room. Why the hell do you care?"

Dick ignores the insult. "His face looking better?"

That question feels like a crotch-shot and Jason flops back onto the couch.

"I didn't mean it that way, Jason. What happened?" Jason contemplates not answering, pictures Tim hiding up in his room, or worse, his bathroom, and pulls himself back into a sitting position.

"Fuck you and your concern. Nothing happened." _Dick is such an asshole._

He can picture Dick pursing his lips behind him. "Is Tim okay?"

Jason feels his insides tense up. "I don't _fucking_ know because he suddenly won't see me. Says he's tainted or some shit, I don't know." He stands and makes for the backdoor, just in case Vicki Vale is still hovering outside the manor. "I'm going to go get some cigarettes."

He hears Dick coming up behind him and moves his arm when Dick makes a grab for it.

"Jason, maybe something happened—"

"Just—God—just shut _up._ " Jason doesn't want to hear it because it'll make him feel like an asshole for making such a big fucking deal out of nothing. He'll feel bad after he bums at least _one_ cigarette off of someone outside because, Christ, he needs one.

Something breaks upstairs. Dick checks out the sound and Jason leaves.

He thinks maybe a drink wouldn't hurt either.


	34. Chapter 34

Tim is clenching and unclenching his fists— _someone help me_ —and the remains of his lamp make him uncomfortable. Conner needs to shut up. Tim needs silence, right now, because he's _freaking out_ , has been since this morning.

"Tim!" Dick? Tim turns around. His body is trembling. He doesn't like it. Dick moves forward, looks at the wreckage that was once Tim's bedside table. "Are you okay?"

"I'm freaking out," he says. "Help me, because I'm freaking out and I don't... I don't know what to do—" he chokes a little, "where's Jason?"

Dick's eyebrows go up and he bites his lower lip. "He's out. But he'll be back."

_No, no, no, God, what did I do—_

Blackness chills around his heart. He will not talk to Dick. This is... this whole thing with Conner and the anger and _I am taintedtaintedtainted_ is not for Dick. He needs to wait for Jason—

There's a swirling of colors in his mind, of Conner and of Jason and his brain _hurts—_

"Sedate me," Tim says.

Dick blanches. "What?"

"Sedate me. I can't... I can't focus on here, exactly. I'm... not making sense—" his thoughts break off and he's yelling at Conner in his head, he hopes he's not doing it out loud. "Just... get me to stop, to rest, come on—"

Tim hates sedatives. But his heart just keeps going and his mind won't slow down.

Dick sits Tim down on the bed and is gone and back before Tim can blink, it seems like. But, then, perhaps he's losing his grip on time too. He thinks about blaming Vicki Vale as Dick sticks the needle in him and pushes down the plunger. He thinks that if she hadn't made that article, he would have made progress. Then Jason wouldn't have gone out there and made Tim's heart squeeze.

But as blissful unawareness takes him under, he remembers that all of this is his own fault.

The blame is his alone.


	35. Chapter 35

Dick is suiting up (in the living room, though he should be doing so in the Batcave, but Tim's incapacitated and the closer someone is to Tim, the better). Before he dons the cowl, Jason walks in. He smells like alcohol and cigarettes. It makes Dick's nose tingle. It would make Tim grimace.

"Welcome home."

"Hnn," Jason replies. He's not drunk; Dick has _seen_ Jason drunk. He's not even tipsy. Just _smells_ like he should be drunk.

"You've been out awhile." It's nine o'clock now.

"You're not my goddamn mom."

Dick rolls his eyes, then glances at Jason as he walks by to get to the kitchen. "Tim's been sedated."

That gets a reaction. Jason freezes. "What?"

"Are you deaf, little brother?"

Jason turns, moves to grab Dick, who backs away. " _Why_ would you do that?"

"He asked me to." Jason freezes again. "After he asked where you were." Guilt, rage, anguish, flit across the face of Jason Todd. Dick turns toward the stairs. "Damian, readminister Tim's sedative, then suit up! We're going on patrol tonight."

Damian's head pops above the banister. "We are?"

"I didn't stutter," Dick smiles to take out the sting.

"Wait," Jason says. "Just... I'll readminister it. Okay?"

Dick knows Jason won't. He can't stand to see Tim sedated, because Tim _hates_ sedatives. Dick hopes that maybe something will give, and they'll talk again, as they did before. Dick isn't stupid. Jason had been Tim's lifeline.

"It's hard," Dick says, "to hear one side of a conversation." Tim had had one, with Conner, during the administration of the sedative. "Because we fill in things that probably aren't there. And then we don't understand what's going on and that worries us. It's like listening to a parent talk on the phone with a teacher. Except Tim isn't a parent, he's our younger, weaker loved one," Jason goes white, "and Conner and Steph aren't teachers, but delusions." Dick blinks, and pulls up the cowl when Damian leaps down to land beside him. "But we got this Jason. We—you, and me, and Tim—we got this."

As Dick leaves on patrol that night, he thinks that maybe he did learn a thing or two about BatAdvice from Bruce. Because Jason had headed upstairs to shower before seeing Tim.


	36. Chapter 36

Jason slides his shirt over his head, tightens the drawstring on his sweat pants, and rubs his hair dry with a towel (not all at the same time). He turns off the light to the bathroom, contemplating the dark, empty hallway before him. He's sure Alfred's around here somewhere.

He keeps the towel around his neck as he enters Tim's room. A desk is still there from when he actually lived here. The syringe with the second dose of sedative sits upon it. Jason takes the chair and rolls it over to Tim's bedside.

Tim's blinking slowly, as if he's just woken up. "Jason?" He's voice is a little slow, as if his tongue is heavy. Jason blames the sedative.

"Right here, baby bird."

"Where'd you go?" His voice is definitely drowsy.

"Just out. You okay?"

Tim completely ignores the question. "Did I make you mad?"

Tim rolls over onto his side so he's looking at Jason, and his eye are a tad unfocused. Jason swallows, fighting the urge to fidget with the hem of his T-shirt (because Jason Todd does _not_ fidget).

"No. 'Course not."

"'M sorry," Tim says, hiding a yawn. "I didn't mean to make you whatever you were. Mad. Or sad. 'S just because this 's my fault." Jason hears the light running together of words and wonders how badly the sedatives at Arkham worked if this is how he is by one of the Bat's formulas.

"This isn't your fault, you know. It's... I don't know who's fucking fault it is," Tim smiles, and it looks a little goofy, but Jason smiles a little too, "but it's not yours."

The smile disappears and Tim rolls once again onto his back. "It is. I let myself get all... squished by things n'so, s'my fault."

Jason runs a hand through his hair and shuts his eyes for a second.

"...didn't mean to make you sad again. 'M good at that though. Depressin' people."

Jason feels all of him sort of melt a little. He reaches his hand out and only when he feels Tim take it does he open his eyes. Jason has things to say, a lot of things, things that would complicate what they sort of have (or what could all be in his head).

So, all Jason does say is, "Baby B, you make me one of the happiest people on earth."

Tim looks at him, the fog sort of lifting out of his eyes. "I make you happy?" Then, he looks like he's listening to something else. He frowns, winces, and his mouth twitches. "Sedative," he murmurs. "Jason?"

Jason wants to say no.

"Please," but then Tim says that. Neither Jason, nor Tim, let go as Jason reaches for the syringe. He holds the tip of the needle against the arm that's attached to the hand he's holding. He slips the needle under Tim's skin and pushes the plunger.

He watches Tim's eyes go foggy again and they make eye contact.

"Yeah, Tim," Jason says, "you make me inexplicably happy."

Tim doesn't smile and Jason isn't one-hundred percent sure he'll remember that, because Tim's eyes are now closed and his breathing has evened off.

"Love you, baby B."

Jason falls asleep in that chair holding Tim's slackened hand.


	37. Chapter 37

Tim wakes up with a crushing headache in the morning. It's not as debilitating as Arkham sedative-headaches, but it makes him want to stay in bed. But his hands are itching. They haven't been washed in _hours_. Tim slips his hand out of Jason's (as he is still asleep) and quietly opens the bedroom door to head to the bathroom down the hall (at the time, Tim hadn't wanted a room with an attached bathroom). Conner's gone from loudly furious to broodingly silent. Tim still sees him out of the corner of his eye.

Damian is sitting against the wall, just out of sight of the living room and foyer below. He motions for silence and pats the place next to him. The closer he gets to Damian, the louder the voices below get.

And one of them is the voice of Victoria Vale.

Tim sits down and scratches at his hands.

"Grayson agreed to have a meeting with her this morning," Damian says, "because she was going on write an article based purely on speculation, as many imbeciles with the press do."

Tim nods, listens.

"I went to Arkham yesterday evening," Vicki is saying. "One of the staff tells me that not too much before Mr. Drake's... withdrawal from the asylum, he had a major mental break for a couple days. Just after his incident with the Joker."

Tim touches his temples. His headache is getting worse.

"That's unfortunate that he told you that. We, his family, remain uninformed."

" _Jason Todd is dead."_

Damian glances at Tim, then continues to stare in front of him at the carpet. "What does she mean, Drake?"

" _Jason Todd is dead."_

Tim is rather tired of Victoria Vale causing him to slide backwards. He wants to get better. He wants to be fine and happy and _Tim_ again. Damian glances at him again.

"The sedative they had me on," Tim says quietly, "it gave me a headache, afterwards, made me irritable. Sick." Tim looks at the ceiling, scratching off more peeling skin. "And one of the staff members told me Jason was dead." Tim's mouth twists. He stops talking. He doesn't want to talk anymore.

" _Jason Todd is dead, Mr. Drake-Wayne. It appears he was killed in the aftermath of Batman's disappearance. After his escape."_

Damian looks at him, an odd look on his face. "...Drake?"

Tim purses his lips. His headache is now close to mind-numbing. Vicki needs to leave so he can get some medicine. And so he can wash his hands.

He wipes his arm under his nose (it itches) and it comes away wet and warm.

He looks down, wondering if he has a cold. He sees blood, slowly drying on his thumb and wrist.

"Drake?" Damian says again. Tim leans back against the wall and shuts his eyes. His head hurts. "Drake, look at me!" He hears Damian stand up. "Grayson! Todd!"

He also hears Conner. "Tim, man? Are you okay? I'm sorry, for being such an ass, but open your eyes okay? We need to get some tissues for that nosebleed. Tim?"

Tim sighs.

" _Jason Todd is dead."_

" _No, he_ isn't _."_


	38. Chapter 38

Drake just sort of slumps over. Damian's heart is in his throat. Vicki Vale is being practically pushed out the door just as Dr. Wilson is brought in. Grayson is up the stairs and looking at Tim during all of this. Damian registers it far more slowly than it is actually occurring.

Todd is freaking out because, as Grayson has just announced, Drake's pulse is going in the direction of "bad." Todd is murmuring about how Drake doesn't eat, how he needs to eat. Grayson scoops him up and almost falls backwards. Damian thinks it is because he used too much strength.

Grayson begins heading to the Cave, Todd and Damian following him. Alfred, calm as ever though Damian's sure he's worried, asks what to do with the doctor.

Grayson doesn't pause, "He can come with us if he'd like." Damian's insides knot because his father would surely disapprove of a stranger coming into his sanctuary. But Alfred says nothing so neither does Damian. Now is not the time to start something.

Grayson lays Drake down on what looks like an autopsy table. Todd goes a little white.

Drake's eyes are moving beneath his eyelids, as if in panic. Damian wonders what he's seeing. (He wonders if he can guess.)

Grayson cuts his shirt open, on the chance he needs to use the defibrillator (of course, it has only needed use a couple times and not on either of them, as of yet). Damian takes a step back because all he can really see are ribs and bones with skin stretched over them.

Dr. Wilson gasps a little bit from behind him. Todd runs hands through his hair.

Damian is confused. Drake always says he is not hungry and yet he obviously should be. He should be starving. Obviously he is.

Grayson gets two syringes. One, Damian assumes, is glucagon, to get Drake to absorb the last vestiges of glucose that are hovering around in his body. He guesses the other is glucose, because the cells need it and it looks like Drake wouldn't have much.

Silence hovers around like a spirit of death waiting to whisk Drake away. Damian feels a little sick. Grayson injects both syringes.

It takes quite a few moments for Tim to start moving, but it seems like he's panicking when he does. His eyes open and flit around the room. He makes a strangled sound. This scene makes Damian nervous. The blood still trickling from Drake's nose is horrifying.

And then Drake _moves._


	39. Chapter 39

_Jason isn't dead Jason isn't dead he can't be dead because if the doctors are right I killed him Jason can't be dead I didn't do that and he's right here_ -

Tim runs. He breaks for the stairs leading out of the catacombs of the hospital because he wants out, really out, not the dream out he's been living for however long. He is grabbed from behind. Tim pulls his arm forward and then jabs backward with his elbow.

"Get off of me!" His voice is high pitched and scared. It doesn't make any difference how obvious he is. After all, doctors can smell fear.

"Tim!" Tim stops. A doctor is in front of him. Familiar. Namenamename—Doctor Wilson. He knew he had to have gotten that face from somewhere for it to show up in his dreams. An Arkham doctor. Of course. "Tim, you need to breathe. You aren't in Arkham anymore."

Tim is being held. "I am! I can see it! Don't—don't think I can't tell!"

The doctor gently takes his wrists. "Listen. Listen closely, and anchor yourself back home. Okay?"

Tim struggles, but a part of his listens.

"Baby B," that's Jason's voice, shaky and scared. "I'm right here, okay? Right here."

He can't be because the doctors said he was dead—

"Timmy," he cannot _see_ Jason, or Dick, "calm down. We're here. Right here. And you're home."

The vision of Arkham doesn't fade out of existence. It pops. Suddenly, he is back in the BatCave (though he is curious how Dr. Wilson is down here) and he is shirtless and embarrassed. Humiliated.

Dr. Wilson sighs as Tim's breathing slows down. "Tim, you have reached rock bottom." He says that like it is a good thing. Tim doesn't think it is a good thing. "The only way to go now is _up_."

Dick, who has been holding him, sits him back down on the table and give him a towel for his nose.

"Stress induced bleeding," Dr. Wilson says. "It happens more often than you would think."

Tim's stomach cramps tightly. He grimaces.

"You okay?" Jason asks, quickly.

"I think," Tim says, clutching at his stomach (though everyone knows that doesn't really help), "I think I'm hungry."

Alfred, who has been standing silent vigil over his family turns and walks upstairs. Dick and Damian lead Tim, Damian saying how he needs a new shirt or he could take out an eye with those bones of his showing.

Tim looks back, over his shoulder.

"Mister Todd, I would like to speak with you for a moment," Dr. Wilson says.

Jason—belligerent, uncooperative, irritable Jason—simply nods.


	40. Chapter 40

Jason could have counted Tim's ribs. Jason could probably have counted all of Tim's _bones_.

"Well, doctor, what the fuck do you want?" He tries to come up with his attitude, or at least something snarky to say. But it doesn't pan out the way he would like.

"The question I asked you two days ago, about you relationship with Tim was left open, if you recall." Two days. It had only been two days? Christ.

"Yeah. So?"

"I would like to revisit it. What _is_ your relationship with Tim? The whole story, if you don't mind."

Jason doesn't want to talk about it. It would mean admitting his part in Tim's current state. It would mean admitting that he didn't see Tim as his brother. It would mean a lot of things that Jason really doesn't want to get in to. Ever.

"I am not stupid Mister Todd. I _can_ see that Tim makes you his liferaft. Or his lifeline. Or _something_ important. Very important. So I ask again. What was, what _is_ your relationship with Tim?"

Jason purses his lips as he leans on the table where Tim had just been. It's none of the doctor's damn business. It's not _anyone's_ business but his own (and maybe Tim's). But Dr. Wilson stands there, patiently, waiting for Jason to crack. Which he would.

He did.

"I beat him up a lot," Jason says quietly. "A lot. Because I was replaced. It wasn't his fault, not really. But I still kicked the shit out of him. Unfairly. I tried to kill him, too. When Bruce disappeared."

"So you don't believe he's dead either."

"No. And he's going to be pissed when he finds out you were down here." Jason pauses, then continues with his story. He wonders if he ought to be honest about the next thing. "We met up, once. It was angry and... tense? But. We ended up... sort of kissing." The doctor's eyebrows went up. Judgemental prick. "So we avoided each other. I mean like the other had the goddamn _plague_. And then I... visited him. Alfred asked me to. After Dick fired him. And... Tim was so... upset. I came to see him a second time. Because _I_ wanted to. And then he... he started _shaking._ I talked to him more. After that. And in Arkham. I..."

Jason stops. He _doesn't want to talk about this._

"...Mister Todd?"

"I love Tim." Jason says, miserably. And he isn't thinking. He covers his face with his hands. He feels dirty and ashamed. "He'd broken and in pieces and I love him. I want... _fuck_ I don't know what I want but... I've never been someone's support system before."

"Jason," Dr. Wilson says. "Jason, I had guessed as much. Tim trusts you. With everything. That's good, you see. It means he has the potential to heal. The potential to have a life _with_ you."

Jason is tired of the doctor. He is tired in general.

"Just... just let me know when you're going to start with Tim. I'll be there." Jason slides off the table and heads up the stairs.

He hears Dr. Wilson sigh behind him.


	41. Chapter 41

Tim's stomach feels like it is about to burst. He has only eaten two pieces of toast with a glass of milk. But Dick looks so happy and Alfred looks pleased so Tim eats half of another piece of toast. He swallows a couple times to make sure he doesn't throw up.

Jason comes out from behind the grandfather clock that leads to the Batcave (one of many entrances). Dr. Wilson follows behind, after a moment. Jason looks upset. Dr. Wilson just looks tired.

Tim wonders if he can just skip today's session. He wants to, especially since he knows what the doctor will ask about. He is not in the mood to talk about Arkham. Won't ever be, not really. But deep down, Tim knows that if he doesn't talk he won't get better.

So, when Dr. Wilson sits at the table with Tim, he doesn't say "go away" like he desperately wants to. Instead, when Dick and Alfred leave and while Jason sits next to him, Tim pushes his dishes away to wash afterward.

"So, Tim, by the way you paled when I got up here, I assume you know where I want to start today."

"I can guess," Tim replies.

"I am curious as to what triggered your bleeding today. What stressor was on your mind?"

Tim could just say, "Vicki Vale" but that wouldn't be entirely truthful. "Arkham," he says by way of being vague. He's going to keep this game up as long as possible.

"What about Arkham?" Dr. Wilson asks patiently.

"It wasn't too long before I escaped," he says, remembering how Vicki Vale put it earlier this morning.

"Go on," the doctor says. Jason brushes his hand over Tim's shoulder. He swallows.

_Just... talk, Tim._

"After I woke up from the sedative dose I got after I... collared the Joker," Tim can see Jason's lips twitch upward in a smile, "Jason came to see me. It was... two days after. Strong stuff."

"Bane sedative," Jason said quietly. "Too strong for you."

Tim isn't surprised. "Well, Jason came by with, uh, root beer," warmth spreads through his belly at this memory, "and then he left. A doctor... a doctor came in and asked who I was talking to. I said... I said Jason, of course. He visited as often as he could."

Tim wrings his hands together and gets up to wash them at the sink. They needed to be cleaned after all.

"And... he said 'Jason Todd? Jason Todd is dead.' I said 'no he isn't, he was just here.' They said... he'd been dead since... since the criminal outbreak when Bruce disappeared and... that meant I... that meant I killed him." Tim's voice breaks, strangled and miserable.

Jason stands and leaves the kitchen. Tim scrubs harder at his hands, adding more dishsoap. They sting.

"And I... couldn't take that, doctor. I... he's... He came to see me." _Because he wanted to._

Dr. Wilson puts his hand on Tim's shoulder (Tim didn't hear him move) and says, "I understand. What they did to you... is unacceptable. Wrong."

"That's... not even the worst part..."

Tim thinks this will be a long session. He's almost glad that Jason opted out.

"Tim, you're making progress by telling me."

Tim hopes so. Otherwise, he is hurting for nothing.


	42. Chapter 42

Jason hates Arkham. He remembers this fact as he listens to Tim talk to .

"By the way, Tim, that bruise you're sporting, on the side of your face, where did you get that?"

Jason flinches. He's glad no one's there to see.

"I was trying to break up a fight between Dick and Jason. I got hit. No big deal."

Dr. Wilson sighs like he's nodding.

"I see." Jason hears Tim breathing. He's not very calm. "Now, what else about Arkham? After the doctor told you Jason was dead?"

"I...lost myself. I injured more people that I can remember. I threw things. I broke things. Because they kept telling me that I had been there longer than I thought, that Jason had been dead the whole time. It was... ridiculous. I..." Tim swallows. Jason hears the nervousness.

Jason hears Dr. Wilson move. Tim is terribly close to hyperventilating.

Jason stands. He has had enough of this. It's time to visit Arkham. He knows there are gadgets that disable security cameras. Tim perfected that technology. He is, after all, a genius.

Jason heads towards the Batcave (he knows that Dr. Wilson will treat Tim as delicately as possible. Otherwise, Jason would have some words for _that_ doctor too).

" _What_ are you doing?" That _brat._

"I'm going to Arkham to talk some fear into the staff there." (Jason doesn't lie, not in situations like this).

"...for Drake, yes?" Damian asks from the top of the stairs.

"Duh, you little shit."

Damian takes no offense, though Jason is sure he would have a few months ago.

"I would like to come with you."

"...what. The fuck?" The pause was unintentional.

"I _said_ I would like to come with you. I believe they could learn a lesson from you and me."

Jason thinks a moment, thinks about everything they did to Tim (those motherfuckers had convinced Tim of the unimaginable), and looks Damian over once.

"Okay. But we're going as Jason Todd and Damian Wayne, alright? I just needed a video scrambler."

"Of course." Damian says.

"...hey. Brat." Damian looks up as they walk down the stairs together. "...Thanks. For going."

Damian scoffs. "Family defends family. It is only natural."

Jason wishes he had a recorder. Tim would love to hear that.


	43. Chapter 43

Damian scurries across the rooftops behind Jason. No one in Gotham ever bothers to look up, so daytime roof-runs aren't particularly difficult, but Jason is taking the pace a bit fast. Grayson never went this fast unless they were pursuing a criminal.

But, Damian supposes, their prey are a bunch of criminals to Jason.

Damian is out of breath when they reach Arkham Island. Jason has no shame as he makes a mockery of Arkham security with Tim's video scrambling invention. It is practically a cake walk from the main security room that houses all the video feeds and hook ups (thank air vents for that) to the conference room where many doctors take their breaks.

Damian follows as Jason pushes open that door as if he belongs there. He is glad that he trained himself to have an excellent memory, because the expressions on the doctors' faces are priceless.

"Who was assigned as Timothy Drake-Wayne's doctor after the incident with the Joker?" Jason's voice is quiet.

The five doctors in the room all look at one another because they know who this is. All of them were probably assigned to him at one point or another. So they all probably know that Jason Todd likes his questions answered.

"I was," a man stands up and straightens his white doctor's coat. His blonde hair is disheveled. Damian thinks his face would look better with a couple bruises.

Jason takes a few easy steps forward.

Then he launches himself at the doctor and pins him to the wall. Damian clears his throat and says, "if I were an employee of this prison, I would leave this room and avoid talking to the guards."

The doctors don't really seem to register him, but they get out as quickly as they can. Damian considers becoming a motivational speaker, if only for a moment.

The doctor is struggling for breath. The gasps are painfully loud in the silence of the conference room. So are Jason's whispered words.

"I hear you told Tim that I was dead. How dead do I look, doctor?" Jason doesn't bother to look at the nametag.

The doctor cannot breathe enough to answer.

"Because _I_ haven't noticed being dead. And that lie you told damaged him. Ruined a lot of your equipment and hurt a lot of your employees, yeah? Oh, and then, as far as I understand, you sold this information to Vicki Vale."

The doctor's face is turning blue.

"So, you listen, _motherfucker_ , if any more news of this nature makes it to Vicki Vale or to me, I'll kill you. I'll kill you, and I'll enjoy every goddamn minute. And there will be many, many minutes." Then Jason lets the doctor go, turns around, and walks out the door.

The blonde man is left, clutching at his throat, hyperventilating.

Damian looks down at the doctor and kneels before him.

"I will provide the place for your murder and the dumping ground for your body. Money can do that, you know."

Damian follows Jason out and back to the security room, where they grab the video scrambler.

They stand there for a moment, knowing that someone will have told a guard.

"Tim is lucky," Damian says.

"And you say that because?"

" _Tt_. Because you care so much. Obviously."

Jason tries to hide his expression behind a mask of blankness, but Damian can see that what he said was true. But he just shrugs and jumps for the vent.

They are halfway home when Jason says, "Tim is lucky that he as a little brother like you."

The slowly shrinking part of Damian wants to say _we are not brothers_ but what he says is, "If that is the case then you are both lucky, as I am the younger brother to both of you."

There is a sense of pride that comes with those words.


	44. Chapter 44

Dick can't help but watch Tim watch Scooby-Doo. It makes Dick feel like that maybe their relationship isn't as ruined as he thinks it is.

"So how'd the rest of your session go?" Dick asked, taking a seat next to his brother.

"Conner showed up." Tim says. The information stops there. It is times like this that Dick is so unbelievably jealous of Jason that it takes his breath away. But then he remembers he has no right to be, because the whole reason that he and Tim don't talk anymore is because of him.

"Ah."

Silence settles, and it is uncomfortable.

"Do you know where Jason went?" Tim asks. Jealousy bubbles up again.

"He and Damian went somewhere. They didn't say where they were going."

Tim nods and continues to watch Scooby-Doo.

Jason and Damian walk through the front door just then, Alfred greeting them politely, as he always does.

"Where were you guys?" Tim asks, leaning his head back to look at them.

"I'll tell you when you're older," Jason replied dryly, taking a seat on Tim's other side. Damian moves to sit on the large sofa's armrest.

"Scooby-Doo, again, Drake?"

"Always," Tim says, but doesn't crack a smile.

Dick moves to stand. Tim stops him with a hand on the crook of his elbow. "Wait." He looks just as surprised as Dick does that he said it. "Uh, Johnny Quest is on after this. Do you... want to stay and watch it? You know. All of us."

Dick smiles so widely, he thinks his face will split open. If only Stephanie was here.

Then again, maybe to Tim, she is.

"Sure thing!" Dick sits back down. Damian then squeezes in between Dick and Tim.

Dick doesn't think about how Tim will tell Jason everything that went on at the session, because at that very moment, he's just too happy to be jealous.


	45. Chapter 45

It has been a few hours since the family's gathering and the sun has been set awhile. Dick and Damian are out expanding the Dynamic Duo's reputation, but Tim is nowhere to be found. Jason finds that piece of information disturbing.

At about the point where Jason feels panic rising up in him, Alfred walks through the living room and gestures toward the grandfather clock that leads to the Batcave. Then he continues out of the room and down a hallway, humming a tune from his younger years (one that Jason had heard many times when he had been living here as a kid).

Jason enters the Batcave as quietly as he can. He realizes he doesn't really need to, because there is water running, and the main computer is running a scan, reporting data aloud.

Jason moves deeper into the Cave and sees Tim scrubbing at his hands. Blood turns the water pink. Jason stands just out of Tim's sight for a moment.

"Search unsuccessful. New parameters?"

Tim doesn't stop washing his hands, just adds more soap. "Bat-Symbols on relics between zero, Ay-Dee, and today. Also, biometric scan of anyone matching Bruce's profile."

It is then that Jason steps out and moves towards Tim.

Tim doesn't look up.

"Tim, are you alright?"

"I realized that I hadn't—hadn't washed my hands all day, can you believe that? And, you know, I saw my dad, and he mentioned that and then my hands started to itch and they haven't stopped itching since—"

Jason turns off the water and holds Tim's hands out for inspection. They are cracked and bleeding, the new skin never having the opportunity to heal. Blood oozed all over the skin of his hands. Jason sighed heavily.

"Fucking Christ, Tim." He tugs Tim toward the table where he had been lying just that morning. He finds a roll of gauze and begins wrapping Tim's hands delicately.

"Jason, I really need—"

"No, you do _not_ need to wash your hands, okay? Now take deep breaths and shut up, because I am fixing you."

Tim sits in silence for a moment. Then he rests his head against Jason's forearm. It causes Jason to pause in his tending of Tim's hands.

"You help make things quiet," Tim says quietly. "It's not really completely silent, but you help." He almost sounds like he's smiling. "It's hard to believe, since everything you do is so loud."

Jason doesn't say anything, because that would cause Tim to look up. And he couldn't have Tim seeing a smile this wide.


	46. Chapter 46

Alfred has had a good, long life. It has, however, been intermixed with suffering. Bruce suffered much, as had all the children Bruce had taken in.

It seems, however, that none has suffered quite as much as young Timothy.

Sunrise finds Alfred watching Timothy chatter with Stephanie. Conner, he thinks, interjects when he sees fit. Sadness arcs through him at the sight because Tim wants to get better, he can tell, but, for some reason, his friends choose not to leave him alone.

"Master Timothy, would you like some breakfast?"

Tim jumps, surprised. "Ah," he looks lost at first, uncomfortable. "Ah... no. Thanks, Alfred."

Alfred decides he'll press it later. "Did you sleep well, Master Tim?"

Tim looks confused, as if he doesn't quite remember what sleeping is. "I didn't sleep much, Alfred."

He'd assumed so, but he doesn't say so aloud. "Unfortunate. I'm sure Master Jason will be displeased when he wakes up."

Tim's mouth twitches, almost as if he is considering smiling. "He's always displeased."

 _Not when he's with you, sir._ But Alfred doesn't say that either. He strolls into the living room, leaning down to get a gentle grip on Tim's arm. "I think, sir, that it is time for you and I to eat breakfast."

Tim looks up, and seems to be contemplating a grimace. Instead he sighs and stands. "If you insist."

"I most certainly do. To the kitchen with us early birds, then."

A cereal box is still left on the table from Dick and Damian's breakfast when patrol ended an hour before. Alfred woke up only ten minutes after those two had gone to bed. Alfred puts it back in the pantry and begins making a small omelet. Tim cannot eat much, as he has been eating so little.

He presents a the omelet to Tim with a glass of orange juice. He also places a jar of salsa next to the glass of orange juice, because that is how Tim has always liked his omelets: with salsa on top.

"...thank you, Alfred." The sincerity in the young man's voice makes Alfred smile and gives him the urge to ruffle his hair as if he were still the boy who had so adamantly testified to the fact that Batman _needed_ a Robin.

"Never a problem, sir." Tim eats the whole thing, but looks about full to bursting. "Say," Alfred says quietly, the sun beginning a steady stream into the windows, muddied and grey though it was, "would you like to play a game of chess before the others rise?"

Tim thinks for a moment, probably remembering that Alfred had played chess with both him and Bruce.

"Sure, Alfred. If... If I space out, just... nudge me, okay?"

"Of course. But do not worry, sir. Chess is a time consuming game, anyhow."

Tim stands, his clothes waving around him as if they are many sizes too large. Which, Alfred notes, they probably are now. He is almost as thin as a cadaver. (Alfred doesn't like that thought.) But at least Tim is eating again.

"Would you like to be black, or white, Master Tim?"

"White," Tim says, taking a seat on the rug in the living room as Alfred fetches the wooden chess set that Bruce so loved, even as a child.

They spend almost three hours at the game. Alfred enjoys it, and he thinks Tim does too.

Alfred contentedly notes that Tim's illness has not dulled his edge in chess. Tim beats him in that thoughtful way he always did, with an excellent strategy planned from the first move.

This is good, Alfred thinks. Because it is a sign that Tim is still there. Just a little further away.


	47. Chapter 47

Tim fiddles with a Batarang, hoping to improve it. His hands, rewrapped this morning by Alfred after their chess match, are sore and itchy. Tim scratches at them to try and ease the urge to wash them, and desperately tries to ignore the feeling of crawling creatures torturing his hands.

Jason shuffles down the stairs to the Batcave in his pajamas—his large white T-shirt and drawstring pants—and his hair is mussed from sleep, more than likely fitful.

"When did you get up?"

 _Oh,_ Tim thinks, _I didn't sleep._ "Early," he says instead. "Alfred played chess with me."

"I heard. He told me you were down here. I was worried the fucking sink would run out of water."

Tim scoffs quietly, taking apart the electronics in the Batarang and rewiring to see if he could get a better throw out of it.

Jason sits on the workbench.

"...you didn't sleep, did you, Tim?"

Tim doesn't lie, not with Jason. "No. I didn't."

Jason fidgets with the white tuft of hair at his temple, a defining characteristic of the infamous Jason Todd. At least, nowadays it was his defining characteristic. (Before, it was his hairstyle.)

"Is there anything I can do to, I don't know, make you sleep any better?"

Tim wants to laugh out loud. He hasn't slept in months, not really, and, even before, he slept poorly.

"I don't think so, Jason."

Jason's jaw tenses and untenses repeatedly. "I could... shit, I don't know. I could stay with you until you fall asleep. It worked... it worked at least once, at the hospital."

Tim blinks and feels surprise knot his insides when he feels his eyes watering.

_How am I reacting this way?_

"You're acting like a schoolgirl, Tim." Conner says, crossing his arms.

Tim's head hurts.

"You know, maybe it would help." The emotions rolling around in him makes Conner and Steph seem so real, so solid that he replies in front of Jason.

"I think, Conner, that you're—" and he catches himself. Because Conner isn't _real_ , dammit, and he was about to call him jealous. Jason is standing now, worried and looking uncomfortable.

"Tim, it's okay, I'm... I didn't mean to—"

"No," Tim says, his throat raw without crying. "I'd appreciate it. If you'd stay with me as I fall asleep. I think... it'll keep me grounded."

Because the more he focuses on Jason the quieter Conner gets.

Even though Conner's voice rings out as he goes, "I loved you first."


	48. Chapter 48

It is another three hours before Jason convinces Tim that he needs to sleep. And, as he promised, Jason pulls a chair from the room's desk up to the side of the bed and takes a seat as Tim crawls into the bed. He works his jaw as if he is seeing something (a sign that Jason had begun to notice a while ago).

It is quiet. Quiet to the point where Jason things he can hear Tim grinding his teeth.

"Are you okay?" Jason asks. It is, of course, a stupid question. Tim hasn't really been okay in a long time. It takes a while for Tim to answer, and it isn't really an answer at all.

"I loved Kon," he says, voice broken. Jason doesn't want to talk about this, but Tim is more than likely seeing Conner right now and Jason won't ever just get up and _leave_ , not with Tim staring at the ceiling like that. "I loved him. He was my best friend, even when I was closed off, antisocial _Robin._ I thought, before he died, we were getting somewhere, _anywhere_ with that... I—"

He stops.

"Losing him ruined me."

Jason is almost done listening, almost tuning him out, but then Tim says, "but this is different. This... I haven't felt this... it's... different." His voice gets quieter, easing in the decibels until Jason is straining to hear instead. "This... I am sure that I love you. It's just... an expanding feeling, a swelling."

The last two sentences are a whisper and Jason's heart stops. Talking has lulled Tim into a state of pre-sleep. But Jason touches his shoulder and says, "say that again."

"I am sure that I love you," Tim says again, not raising his voice even a little. "Jason—" exhaustion and the desperation for understanding war across Tim features—

"If photos of last night ended up on-line, I'm screwed. Oh well! It's a blacked out blur, but I'm pret-ty sure it ruled. _Damn—"_

"Grayson, shut up! My goodness, do you have to pollute this place with what you seem to think is _music_ but happens to be _noise?_ "

Jason stands and rushes into the hallway, seeing Dick and Damian awake from last night's patrol.

"Jesus fucking Christ, shut up, assholes. Tim is trying to sleep and—" _and we were talking about something..._ fuck _he was actually saying—_

After some insults from Damian (which less ire than before, after their visit to Arkham) and laughter from Dick, Jason returns to Tim's room.

But Tim has already fallen asleep, twitching with nightmares that even Jason can't fight.


	49. Chapter 49

Damian sees Tim coming down the stairs, rubbing at his raw and newly un-bandaged hands. He looks disheveled and confused, as if he isn't quite sure where he is. It isn't until Tim actually lays eyes on Damian that recognition finally snaps itself on Tim's face.

"Where's Jason?"

"With Pennyworth in the kitchen. I think Grayson is in there too. After all, after you, ah, fell asleep Jason told him to get a better playlist if he was going to attempt to keep you awake." Damian moves from the living room couch to the bottom of the stairwell.

"How are you feeling..." the question trails off and Damian steels himself inside for what he's about to say next, "...Tim."

Tim's eyebrows hide in his hairline due to the surprise of hearing his name. Damian wants to roll his eyes, but perhaps the surprise is warranted. He is so surprised, in fact, that he stops wringing his hands.

"...I'm... I'm good, uh, Damian." And he sounds befuddled, rather than lost, and sounds even more incredulous. It reminds him of the tone that Drake—Tim—often had when they would banter. Or, rather, fight.

"Well, that's... good."

"...yeah." Tim glances over Damian's shoulder and he assumes someone is there that only Tim can see, but he says nothing.

"There is... well, there is an hour of, what is that show... ah, Scooby-Doo, at... eight this evening," and right now, it is five, "if you would like to watch it..."

Tim, having stopped in his surprise, finishes his decent down the stairs, and says, "Sure. I'd really like that." He smiles, only a little, and walks by. "You said Jason was in the kitchen?"

"Yes."

"Thanks." He walks to the kitchen and Damian, while being occasionally socially inept, figures that Tim and Todd have some talking to do. Damian (though this he will never admit out loud) hopes that they talk about what he _thinks_ they are going to.

(Of course, maybe he is catching Grayson's "they would be such a cute couple" disease. That thought is disgusting.)


	50. Chapter 50

Jason Todd does not cook. However, he is eager (at least _determined_ ) to try and learn to cook. Alfred has the infinite patience to take this teaching task on. However, Dick is being such an asshole about it, saying how Jason is getting domesticated.

Jason is trying not to yell, or throw a punch, but the more Dick taunts him, the less his restraint is working.

"I think I should get you an apron! You'd look really cute, I'm sure—"

"Dick, shut the fuck up or I'll put you in the _hospital_ —"

Tim walks in looking tired, absentmindedly scratching at his hands. "Anything I can help with?" Alfred walks by Jason and Dick to guide Tim to a stool. "No, Master Tim, but I am sure that you will enjoy watching Master Jason, Master Richard, and I make dinner."

Tim snorts and has a small, but wry, smile on his face. "I'm sure that I will." He begins straightening the cookware closest to him, which pinches Jason's heart a little bit. But he's down here and he's socializing, which means he has to be feeling a little better after his rest. Jason hopes so, anyway.

"I didn't volunteer for this, Alfred," Dick says, trying to ease his way out of the kitchen. Damian shoves Dick (but not hard) so that he can get in.

"What's occurring?"

"Alfred, Dick, and Jason are making dinner."

"Oh, this I must see."

"Oh no, no. Alfred and Jason are cooking."

"Not so, Master Richard. You made yourself a part of this when you taunted Master Jason. Suit up, sir." Alfred tossed him an apron that Jason didn't see him get. Just as Jason was about to laugh his ass off, an apron hit him in the face as well.

"What's for dinner, anyway?" Damian asks, hopping up to take a seat on the counter."

"A Mongolian stir fry recipe that Master Bruce brought back from a trip. It's quite delicious. Get off the counter, Master Damian." Damian sighs irritably and hops back down, grabbing a stool to sit near Tim.

Jason thinks that this could be the most content Tim has looked in a long time.

"Let's begin, shall we?"

Tim stops messing with the pans and watches, silently. Damian makes sure to let Dick and Jason know how feminine they look, and how Bruce would never have pictured them in such a state of femininity.

Regardless of the boy's insults, dinner ends up a success, though eggs and noodles coat the walls and Tim has some broccoli in his hair. Damian had taken an egg to the face because he just wouldn't just his bratty little mouth. Alfred got out cleanly.

But now all is well.

The only thing that makes Jason uncomfortable is the small amount of food Tim eats. Alfred sees it and says, "it's something, sir."

But that doesn't mean it's enough.


	51. Chapter 51

Dick watches Tim play basketball with himself. Or sort of by himself. Conner is there and talking. If Dick pays close enough attention, he thinks he can hear Conner speaking back. Damian stands at his side, wary and sad.

"What do we do?"

Dick bites his lower lip. "I don't know." _I don't know, I don't know, God, I don't know._

Tim freezes every now and again, speaking to Conner and realizing why he shouldn't. He says things like "I wouldn't play with you, even if you were alive—" and other such things.

Ten minutes into their watching (they can't look away—) Tim turns and drops the basketball.

"Stop it," his voice is quite, broken. Dick had thought he was getting better. Dinner had proven that he was getting better. Hadn't it? "Leave me alone, Kon. This isn't fair." Dick assumes Conner's getting loud and angry. "Just... God, just shut up! I can't—" he breaks off with a strangled, scared sound. Dick moves forward, only to be grabbed at the elbow. The grip feels like Jason's. "I'm crazy. And you make me crazy." Dick reads this on Tim's lips. His voice is inaudible.

Jason (and it was Jason who had his arm) walks by, briskly, picking up the basketball that rolled to the doorway that Tim no longer noticed. "Hey, Tim, would you like to play a game?"

He tries a weak smile, taking in Dick and Damian along with Jason. "What is this, a Saw movie?"

"It's going to be. If Dickie-bird and Damian want to get cut to pieces in a game?"

Dick walks out, no hesitation, and Damian follows close behind. "Anything goes? Robin-training and all?"

Jason scoffs. "Is there any other way for a Batkid to play?" He tosses the ball to Tim. "First to twenty-one wins!)

Tim is fine when he has a competition to focus on. He scores the first basket, bouncing the ball on three of the walls (and the ball circles three times before falling through the net). Dick had forgotten Tim's fixation with threes. Conner must have really shaken him this time.

Dick acrobatics, along with his and Damian's perfect cohesion, score them four baskets after Tim's first. But Tim and Jason make eye contact and then they click.

And their teamwork is perfect. More than perfect.

Dick and Damian don't score anymore baskets that game.

Dick can't help but notice the looks they share afterward. The looks of a couple. Yet they don't cross any of the boundaries that their looks would indicate.

Dick clicks his tongue, letting Damian know that they need to evacuate, right the hell now. Maybe it's them that Tim and Jason don't want there. He's willing to give them the privacy they want. Jason's mouth quirks up in a smile.

Dick doesn't mention that it looks grateful. It would ruin the moment.


	52. Chapter 52

Tim shakes out his hair, splattering water on the mirror. His skin is pink from the shower, though he swears he's trying not to scrub so hard. But it's difficult, not to want to be clean. He pulls on his clothes, regardless of the water still making trails down his body. It'll dry. If he grabs a towel, he'll just end up rubbing his skin even rawer.

" _I'm so sorry Tim, so sorry—"_

He freezes, halfway down the stairs, words from last night racing around in his head.

" _I know it's my fault, this has to be—"_

He jumps the rest of the way down, making his way to the kitchen. He reaches into the refrigerator to get a root beer. He has been craving one since yesterday.

" _Tim,"_ Jason's voice begins again, but this time, Tim cuts him off. The conversation keeps going.

" _No,"_ Tim had said. _"Don't ever blame yourself for me. This is..."_ Tim had had yet to say it. But it had been on his mind. _"This is something I can get through, something I can fix. Jason, I—"_ Tim swallowed nervously. _"Just... I love you and—"_

Jason had leaned down, almost as if to kiss him. Tim's heart had raced away and he'd been hoping so hard that Jason would just get it over with but then Jason had pulled away and stalked off, cursing to himself and the high heavens, running his hands viciously through his hair.

Tim, right now, mulling it back over, feels cheated. Last night, he felt inadequate. But he feels _angry_ at this moment because it just isn't fair. Tim had said he loved Jason. What was there to be angry about?

And the more Tim thinks about it, the angrier he gets, not to mention his feelings shrivel up somewhere in his abdomen. Is he not good enough? Is Jason trying to cut him loose with the guilt card? Oh god, they hadn't really even done anything as a couple and — wait, were they even a couple?

Stephanie lays a hand on his shoulder. "Deep breaths Tim. Were you ever this nervous when we dated?"

Tim, instead of taking deep, slow breaths, starts hyperventilating instead. This stress, this hot and cold business (there is a song for this, he will ask Dick later), is making everything feel so real again. He scolds himself, wanting to smack his forehead.

"Tim," Stephanie's voice starts up again.

Deep breaths.

"Hello Tim," he hears Dr. Wilson say. Stephanie is gone and he almost drops his can of root beer. He catches it thanks to his reflexes honed to Bat-sharpness.

"Sorry to interrupt breakfast, sir," Alfred says, though he knows (and Tim knows he knows) that he hadn't eaten anything yet. "I'll fix something up while you speak with the doctor. But it _is_ that time of the morning."

Tim nods, holding his drink in both hands. He's not going to drop it, should something surprising happen.

Dr. Wilson leads to the living room, sitting in one of Dick's favorite chairs. "So, Tim, how are you doing?"

"I..." He stops. Thinks. "I have seen my friends recently. And clearly. I think... I don't know." Tim says, suddenly tired all over again.

Dr. Wilson nods, as if Tim had divulged his life story, as he practically had the first visit. "We're going to try something new today. You... probably will not like it." He says.

Tim sits down. He is ready this time. Ready for anything the doctor has to offer. Because Tim will get that kiss (dammit, he _wants_ it). It shocks him a little, how badly that not-kiss affects him. He lets his breath out in a huff through his nose.

"Okay. What are we doing?"

The doctor leans forward.

"We're going to free you, piece by piece." Tim knows he looks confused. The doctor elaborates. "We're going to let one of your friends go, today."

Suddenly, Tim isn't so ready anymore.


	53. Chapter 53

"Who has been the quietest lately, Tim?" Tim sits, hands folded in his lap. He wishes Jason were here, but he is still upstairs, asleep. He swallows.

"Bart. Bart hasn't spoken much recently. I have still seen him, though," Tim doesn't know why he says this. Maybe to save his friend's life now where he couldn't before. Dr. Wilson nods and steeples his fingers, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Okay. We're going to do this with him. Alright?"

_No, no, no, it's not alright, no._

"I guess." His voice cracks. This is a daunting task that he isn't sure he's ready for. He doesn't want to be ready for this.

"Pretend I'm not here and reach out for Bart."

Tim does as he's asked, panic rising with every breath.

"Hey Tim I didn't think you'd ever contact me directly."

Tim feels awful. "Hey, Bart. Are you... okay?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm okay. You don't look to good though, haven't looked quite the same since Arkham, though I guess I understand why." Tim shuts his eyes for a moment and sighs. He takes a deep breath, because Bart needs to know what he's doing. "I know, already, by the way."

Tim flinches.

"It's okay. I've been waiting." His words of slowed down and he has a sad smile on his face. "You need to get better, and not one of us is helping. I need to go. You know it, and I know it." Tim bites his lower lip and clenches his fists on his knees.

_You don't have to go._

"Yes, Tim, I do." His friend shrugs. "Besides, me... freeing you... doesn't mean I'm gone. Whether or not I'm just your delirium, I'll always be sort of here, as long as you don't forget about me. Haven't you seen cheesy movies where stuff like this happens on a regular basis? Oh. Wait. No. I forget, you have lived under a rock for your whole life."

"What if I do forget?" Tim says quietly.

"You have an eidetic memory, don't even try to make the excuse that you _might_ forget, fearless leader." Bart smiles. "And anyway... I'm already gone."

Bart disappears and Tim feels nothing. Where Bart was always sort of _there_ there is nothing. He can only sense Conner and Stephanie. Kon's voice rings in his head.

_He's going to kill us._

It may have been his own panic thinking, but Tim stands anyway, narrowly missing his root beer, balanced delicately on the arm of the sofa. "I can't do this," he says to himself. "I can't do this." He runs for the bathroom, and slams the door behind him, locking it and pressing his weight against the wood. He hears Dr. Wilson running up the stairs after him, Dick and Damian getting woken from their sleep. He does not hear Jason.

He had just killed Bart.

Tim looks at his hands, and sees spatterings of blood all over them. He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut and opens them. There are no bloodspots. But, to him, that doesn't mean he didn't kill Bart.

His eyes sting and his throat closes up. He rests his forehead against his knees, pulled up against his chest, and beings to cry. Silent sobs shake his shoulders. He cannot do this again. He can't do it to Stephanie and he most certainly cannot do it to Conner.

_He's going to kill us._


	54. Chapter 54

Jason finds himself staring at the ceiling after waking up to a slamming door. God, how long had he been asleep? It doesn't feel like it was very long, but he has a crick in his neck from sleeping in the chair in his room, so it had to have been more than an hour. Shit, he was still so _tired._

Tired enough to sleep through Tim leaving the room next door.

Tired enough to forget what day it is.

_Fuck._

Words are being exchanged down the hallway. He can hear Tim's voice, high pitched and irritated. Something must have happened.

_At least I didn't kiss him. He can't have that damage hovering over his head._

But that didn't mean he hadn't wanted to kiss him. He had desperately wanted to. But Tim isn't better yet. Jason cannot and will not take advantage of Tim in his current state of mind. Never. Jason Todd is better than that (though he is sure he has his critics).

Jason sits up, rubbing his neck and moves out into the hallway. Tim is down at the end with the doctor, Dick, and Damian. Alfred is nowhere to be seen. However, Tim has tear tracks on both cheeks, his voice is shaky, and his fists are clenched. Jason gets down the hallway before he realized he even moved. (He must be more tired than he thought.)

"Just stop talking!" Tim says, looking frantically from Dr. Wilson to Dick. "Neither of you _get it._ I just killed one of my best friends. _I killed him!_ I did it! I shoved him out of existence because—" His voice is choked off my some indefinable sound. "God, I killed him," he repeats, much softer.

Dick tries to move forward and Jason does the same. "Do _not_ touch me." He shoves past them all and practically leaps down the stairs. Tim grabs a jacket from the closet near the front door and forcefully pulls it on. His legs are trembling.

"Where are you going?" Dick asks. Dr. Wilson stays silent.

"Out." He pulls the hood up on the green jacket and zips it up. "I'll be back later." His eyes land on Jason and there is such an intense longing in them that Jason wants to go and stop him and give him the kiss Jason had been about to give him last night. But the moment comes and goes and Tim slams the heavy wooden door behind him.

"He's going to break all the doors in the house," Damian says. Jason thinks he has just made a joke.

Dick smirks. Then he looks at Jason and the half-smile is gone. "Well, aren't you going to go after him? Your boyfriend needs you!"

"He's not my—" Well. Maybe he is. Jason and Tim hadn't exactly worked out what they were to each other. But they had both said I love you so... what did that mean? "Or, rather, he is, but... fuck. We need to talk about this."

"Yes. Yes you do. Now go fetch Timmy if you would. He's just lost Bart."

" _What?_ "

"He's making progress," Dr. Wilson supplies. "He set one of his friends free, if you would. He has one less mental stressor." He looks away, as if ashamed. "However, it has caused an expected depression and unexpected anger. Has something happened?" He looks at Jason.

Why would he look at him like that? Jason had done the _right_ thing, the _respectable_ thing. He had avoided kissing and emotionally compromised younger man. Why was Dr. Wilson treating him like the bad guy? And why had Tim looked at him so miserably?

"Doctor, I think Jason's a tease."

"A what?" Damian and Jason demand at the same time.

"A tease. Tim had that look that said 'you were about to kiss me but didn't.'" Jason's jaw is slack. "What? I've done that to Babs before. And Kory. And Wally. More than once actually. It pissed them off. But Wally has actually come to find it quite endearing—"

"I'm—I'm not a tease—!"

"...the stutter says you're lying."

"Fuck. _Fuck._ " Jason massages his temples.

"Go. Go fix it. Comfort your beloved. We can all wait here, we promise. Go kiss and make up. And, by the way, kissing isn't necessarily a waiting thing, it's more the tongue you should wait—"

"Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up!" Jason clamps his hands over his ears at the same time that Damian says, "keep your disgusting advice to yourself!"

Jason pushes past Dick and heads for the front door.

But when he opens it to see the Wayne front yard, Tim is already long gone.


	55. Chapter 55

Tim shifts his weight from foot to foot, and contemplates knocking on the door, as he has been for the last fifteen minutes. He really should knock. He did show up, after all. And leaving would be offensive, especially since he knows she knows he's here—

"Okay, bucko, you have been standing outside my door—" Barbara is there, her voice getting ready to lay into him, at least until he pulls down his hood. "Oh. Tim." She sounds confused. "Come in. What's wrong? Is everything okay?" _Is Dick okay?_ The unasked question hangs between them.

"Everything's fine," he says. It's only eighty percent a lie. Twenty percent is covered in truth, because Dick is indeed fine, and he is what Barbara really cares about anyhow.

"Are you sure? I _have_ seen the papers..." She trails off, looking Tim over as he sheds his jacket and drapes it over his arm. "Oh, God, Tim, you're so thin..."

"I'm looking into being Wayne Industries' new spokes model," Tim replies dryly. Barbara doesn't seem amused, as indicated by her pursed lips. She gestures to her couch, wheeling herself in front of it as Tim sits down.

"Does anyone know where you are?"

"They know I'm out, but not where I am. I'd like to keep it that way."

Barbara sighs. "I've heard things, Tim. Are you sure you're alright? They had pictures of you in Arkham, rumors of the Joker's broken collarbone..." She looks at him with pity. It hurts to see it.

"I just can't be home right now." He smiles sardonically. "Did you know Jason and I are sort of a couple?"

"No," Barbara replies. Her eyes are scanning his face and registering the expressions of self-hatred. "I hadn't heard. That's good news though, right?"

"I'm the emotionally compromised half of the couple." He takes a deep breath. "Dick sent me to Arkham and I'm afraid that my mind has been completely warped by my stay there and events prior. Barbara, what do I do? Right now I'm so—" he clenches his fists, "...right now, I'm so angry and so upset... what if I stay like this forever? Angry and sad and—"

Barbara heaves a hefty sigh, cutting him off. "Tim, there's no way a kid like you can stay so angry and depressed forever. There's too much goodness and happiness in you, regardless of the fact that it's buried under your current stress." She says nothing about Dick or Arkham. She doesn't ask questions when she gets to the root of a problem.

It is why Tim came here.

"Your friends," she continues, rolling her chair into the kitchen, "wouldn't want you to be so unhappy. Or so unstable." It sounds like she is making tea, or coffee.

He wants her to tell that to Conner, who feels that Tim is a murderer. A cheating murderer, no less.

" _I loved you first."_

Tim holds his head in his hands.

"What do I do?" He asks desperately. His voice cracks.

There's a steaming cup of tea on the table in front of him. "Drink this tea and just... calm down."

"It's... so loud, in my head. It's hard." He sits up and leans back.

Barbara has a small smile. "And there's only one person that can keep it quiet. But you're not sure where you stand right now. Yes?"

"You are the all-knowing Oracle." Tim is sure Barbara is referencing Dick somewhere. It must hurt to see him with Wally and so very happy. But it must also be great to _see_ him _happy._

"By the way," Barbara says, "you have a visitor. He hovers at the door just like you. Is everyone too nervous to knock on my door?"

"Wait, Barbara—!"

But she opens the door anyway, and Jason is standing there, his hair wind-blown and his cheeks pink from the brisk outdoors.

"You are really hard to find when you want to be. But Bats bugged that jacket." Of course he did. "Tim we—...we need to talk."

"Yes. Yes you do." Barbara says. "But next time you drop by, don't dither around outside my door. _Knock._ " Barbara practically pushes them out the door and gently shuts the door. "Men," she says as the lock clicks.

Tim is staring at the floor. Or, rather, he's staring at Jason's boots.

"Tim," Jason says. It takes a minute for Tim to lift his eyes.

"Mm?"

Jason's lips were chapped (but Tim didn't really picture them feeling any different) and he pushes a little hard (also expected) but the small kiss that Jason places there makes Tim's face heat up to remarkable proportions. And the raging that had been going on in his head since Bart's release silences.

"I've decided," Jason says, the pink on his cheeks now a deeper red, "that we're officially together, since neither of us seemed to know that we were. So. I'm—I'm here to share your problems. Because that's what couples do. Or. What the fuck ever."

That is such a typically Jason thing to say that Tim can't help but laugh.

"Okay," Tim says, the happiness Barbara had been talking about simmering under his skin, "I'm glad."

"Me too," and Tim could tell that he was.


	56. Chapter 56

Damian is barely listening to Grayson. He is watching the doctor closely. He looks like he has bad news. Bad news isn't a good thing, which the name certainly suggests. Dr. Wilson is fidgeting a little bit. Has what he observed disheartened him? Was he quitting? Because what could he expect when he ripped away one of Tim's friends? A happiness?

"He went to see _Barbara_?" Grayson's voice is incredulous.

Jason snaps something on the other line. Dr. Wilson looks like he is trying to get Grayson's attention.

"I didn't doubt you. I'm just... surprised. Will you and Tim be home soon?"

A sarcastic retort was provided for his question. Grayson rolls his eyes and bids Jason goodbye. Dr. Wilson finally gets his chance to speak. Damian narrows his eyes, suspicious. He does not know why he is so suddenly defensive of his... brother... but he is and that it what matters.

"Conner will be the hardest for Tim to let go," Dr. Wilson says as Grayson hangs up.

"I'm sure we all knew that."

"What I am trying to tell you," the doctor continues, sighing, "is that I may need to take drastic measures to insure a recovery for Tim. You may not like it. Jason will most certainly not like it."

"Are you getting rid of Conner before Steph?" Grayson asks. It is a good question.

"No. I'm just..." he gestures vaguely. "I'm just trying to give you fair warning that it _will_ cause Tim stress and it _will_ cause Jason anger. A lot of anger. But you need to understand that Tim will not let Conner go—no matter how Conner treats him in his mind, no matter what malicious things he may say—without motivation."

Grayson looks at the doctor, his eyes flicker like flint. "And this is all you can do to help him, right? This is how he'll get better?"

Damian is asking the same thing in his own mind.

"Yes."

"Then go ahead with it." He says with the utmost severity.

"I was going to. Since Bart is gone, the others need to follow as quickly as possible. I thought it better that I warn you beforehand. Before Conner has to go."

"Thank you," Grayson says. "But if it's the only way, then I won't prevent it."

Dr. Wilson nods. "I will see you the day after tomorrow then. That will be Stephanie's day." Grayson nods. Damian has yet to say anything. His silence continues as he watches the doctor leave. It is only after Dr. Wilson is gone that Damian turns to Grayson.

"Do you think this will make Tim better?"

Grayson thinks about it before opening his mouth, which is a monumental feat. Then he says, "yes. I think this will help Tim. Besides, he's got us. We'll keep him safe. Even if it has to be from his friends."

Damian scoffs at the sentimentality.

(But not-so-deep-down, he feels the same way.)


	57. Chapter 57

It isn't even noon yet and everyone is tired. Everyone except Timothy. Jason is asleep, snoring on the couch. Dick and Damian are leaning on one another, dozing. Tim makes sure to keep this memory close, Alfred can see. Damian will never admit to this unless Tim can explain it perfectly. And the boy can, of course. His memory is even better than Bruce's.

Timothy is alert and looking around, trying not to let his gaze rest on things that aren't there. He also tries to hide the fact that his eyes linger on Jason longer than everywhere else his eyes seem to fly.

"Master Tim?"

Tim's head swivels to Alfred and a small smile touches his lips. It is excellent, Alfred thinks, that he can bring this child joy. It is something he was often unable to do for Bruce.

"I have this cake that needs baking and two pairs of hands are always—"

But Timothy is up (gently lifting Jason's head off of his lap) before Alfred can finish and on his way to the kitchen. Tim _is_ the most helpful of his grandchildren. Now, Richard tries, but he often ends up making messes and apologizing for them while Tim rolls his eyes and cleans up. Jason does not like labor and Damian thinks himself above such chores.

Tim is also quiet. They talk when they feel like it, but it is not necessary, not like it often is with Richard.

"What cake?" Tim asks, already getting out eggs and flour and other things.

"Devil's food." It is one of Tim's favorites, which is why it is no surprise when his eyebrows go up and he almost grins. It is also one of the cakes that Alfred is the best at baking and one of the cakes that takes the most time to bake.

Alfred likes to think of it as the "quality time" cake, but he has never said so out loud. It would sound unprofessional. But Alfred assumes that Tim thinks of this sort of cake the same way (but, then, Tim could think of any chore that way).

They work in silence and it is comfortable. While Tim was away, even prior to his incapacitation, it was rather lonely working in the kitchen. He is glad that Tim is back—that Tim is home—and he will never be able to express this gladness in words.

"What the occasion for the cake, Alfred?" Tim scoops a small portion of the not-really-ready batter onto a knife and licks it off. "I can't recall anyone's birthday today."

Alfred smiles. "No occasion really, sir. I just felt like baking."

Tim knows it is to spend time with the grandson who has been so hard to reach as of late. Embarrassment crawls over his features. He is flattered by the unsaid words.

They finish the cake in silence.

Alfred can tell, as he has always been able to, that this makes Tim happy.


	58. Chapter 58

Tim has felt his personality simmer over the past day or so (and the past day or so has gone by way too fast). Bart, gone. And he knows Stephanie is next. _Tomorrow_. It is strange how time can pass by so slowly in some places (ArkhamArkham _Arkham_ ) and so quickly in others (these days with his friends). Tim clenches his fists on his knees in the silence of his bedroom.

Everyone else is downstairs. Everyone except Alfred. He's about somewhere. He always is.

"Tim."

He jumps.

"Tim," Stephanie says again and takes a seat next to him. He tries to notice the fact that her body leaves no indentation. She turns to him and smiles. He cannot see through her and, in that moment, forgets that she is dead. Again. "I am glad you're happy."

"I'm not—" He stops. Begins again. "Thank you. I just... I'm not happy yet."

"Yeah, well, Kon can be insufferable."

"That's not what I—"

"Don't lie to me." She is just as astute as Damian. It is disturbing, in some ways. She scoots back and pulls her knees up to her chest. "I hope Jason takes good care of you, when we're gone."

Tim can feel Conner's anger burn in the back of his head. He looks at his hands, sees them healing. He wonders if his mind looks this way, on the inside, peeling and scarred and still red, but _healing_. Healing is something he had thought he didn't need and later it was something he didn't want. Now he is sure he needs it and he desperately wants it ( _for Jason, for me_ ), but it's... it's hard. Letting go. Tim thinks he understands Bruce a little better now.

He'll mention his newfound understanding when Bruce comes home.

Silence settles between Tim and Stephanie. He thinks that maybe neither of them know what to say. Who would, after all, know how to say goodbye, when there had never been a starting template?

Stephanie just holds her hand out, palm up, towards him. "Will you hold my hand? Just... you know. For old time's sake."

Tim nods slowly. "Of course."

"I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too."

"And Tim?"

He looks at her. She is smiling and he remembers everything, their almost-love and that relationship that had been happy, yet turbulent.

"Don't forget to be happy when you're finally free."

Tim nods. But he doesn't know if he can be.

(He doesn't know if he means free or happy.)


	59. Chapter 59

Dr. Wilson had advised Tim that perhaps he should be accompanied, watched, _something_. But Tim had wanted to say goodbye to Stephanie without him, this time. He had wanted to walk around the manor's spacious backyard and pull himself away from one of his closest friends. Alone. Without anyone.

Without. _Anyone._

Which had made Jason huffy and Dick a little forlorn. Damian seemed to understand though, so at least one of them was okay with this development.

So here Tim is, slowly circuiting the backyard, Stephanie at his side. She seems to appreciate the aloneness, swinging her arms back and forth dramatically, as if marching into the unknown. Which, he guesses, she could be. But there is a smile on her face and Tim remembers how much he had liked that smile (and how happy he was that she wasn't yelling at him, which happened sometimes because Tim was always... busy).

"Are you scared?" Tim asks suddenly. He doesn't know why. If she says yes, he may change his mind altogether about this situation.

"Not really. Bart seemed really happy to go. He said you'd 'rediscovered your support system,' so you didn't really need us anymore anyway." She shrugs. "He's right. You've got Dick back, Damian likes you, Jason loves you. Besides, it's not like we helped you much anyway. I think we just made you worse off."

Tim bites his lower lip and huffs a breath out through his nose. "No. I don't. I don't... I don't think so. If I hadn't... If I hadn't had you, where would I be?"

She shrugs again. Stops walking. Turns. "I'm going to say goodbye now."

 _Five more minutes._ Stephanie shakes her head, even though that thought never left his mouth.

She takes his hands and squeezes them. She's warm and oh so very real in this moment. "I'm glad Jason found you. I'm glad you found Jason. I'm so _happy_ that I get to leave you with people who love you. Okay? I'm not upset. I regret nothing. Are we clear, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne?"

Tim nods, his chest feeling numb.

"Then... then goodbye. And. Just because I'm leaving doesn't mean you'll forget about me."

Tim nods again.

And she smiles one more time and blends into a gray and purple mist before disappearing. Another wound reopened and stitched. Tim blows out a sigh and puts his hands in his pockets.

He turns to walk back to the house but white light blossoms in his eyes and his head is wracked with an intense pain. It feels as if his skull is being squeezed. The pain brings him to his knees and makes the world wobble.

And he feels Conner. Scared and angry and so very lonely and sad and—

Tim tries to stand, falls over, hits his head. Hard.

 _I'm sorry._ Tim thinks, tries to push past the pain and stand back up. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'msorryI'msorryI'msorrysorrysorrysorry_ sorry—

And the tides of blackness that Tim is so used to pull him down into unconsciousness.


	60. Chapter 60

Tim stays unconscious until noon the next day, leaving everyone to worry and fret about him. Jason had angrily chased Dr. Wilson out of the house because he would be damned if that man would stay here a moment longer than he had to! But right now Jason is out smoking (he is trying to quit, he says, so everyone should stop fucking bothering him).

So Dick is up here, watching Tim pull himself up right, screwing his eyes shut. There is no doubt he has a brutal headache.

"Jesus," he says quietly, touching his forehead. Dick plops himself at the foot of Tim's bed. "How long have I been out?" He asks, moving his fingers to the bandage at his temple, a cut from his fall.

"Over twenty-four hours. A long time, Timmy. You feeling okay?"

"Nngh." He rubs his temples. "Massive headache. Also, I should probably eat something." But he doesn't move to get out of bed, his eyes wandering somewhere to the left.

"Hey, Tim," Dick adjusts his position to be in Tim's line of sight. "Do you want to talk about yesterday? Did Steph go okay?" _Are you okay?_ But he doesn't ask that. Tim has always hated being treated like a child.

Tim plays with the hem of the comforter. "Stephanie went fine. She's the one that said goodbye first." He touches the bandage on the side of his head. "But Conner. Kon. He." Tim stops and says nothing more, compressing his lips into a thin line. Then he says, "I cannot believe I've been unconscious that long." His voice is quiet, disbelieving.

"Time flies, huh?"

Tim looks away. "Time goes so slowly when I don't want it to, but when I want to dig my heels in, wait just one more minute, it seems like I'm being thrown forward. It. I don't." Sadness mars his little brother's features. "Why?"

"That is probably one of life's great questions that you'll have to ask when you die," Dick says, drawing him into his arms and holding him tightly, moving Tim so he is in Dick's lap. "But this rush. Maybe it's for the best. After all, the longer Conner messes with you, the more stressed you get, then the more stressed Jason gets so..."

"Where is Jason?" Tim's voice is muffled by Dick's chest.

"Ah. Good question. A question for the ages, really—"

"He's smoking." Dick thinks he can feel Tim smile a little. "You said stressed, so he's smoking." Tim pulls away, sliding out of bed, grimacing when all the blood rushed from his head.

"Well, yeah. But I was going to lie to you and say 'rescuing a kitten from a tree.'"

Tim snorts, walking toward the door, his feet making no sound upon the carpet. Dick follows, looping his arm through Tim's and practically pulling the younger man down the stairs. "I'll have Damian go get Jason, okay? Time for you to eat something."

"But I should tell Jason that I'm—"

"Food first," Dick says. He wants to coddle his little brother, smother him with love and affection and older brotherness because it has hit him again that all of this is his fault. Nothing can fix that. But he wants Tim to know he's sorry, so very sorry, and that he loves him very much.

Dick needs him to know this before Tim says goodbye to Conner. Because after Tim loses his best friend, who's to say that Tim won't blame him, when he truly starts to heal?

"Dick?"

"Hm?" He rests his chin on Tim's head, hugging him from behind.

"Are you okay? You feel." He pauses. "Morose." Ah. Timmy. Always with the empathy.

"I'm fine." He pulls away, prancing himself across the kitchen. "Absolutely fine, now that you're up and about to eat. What do you want to eat little bird?" Dick turns to face Tim and guilt washes up and over him, threatening to drown him, shaking his hands, seeing Tim there, at the table, still too thin and too drawn (but still better than before, right?).

Dick wonders why Tim has forgiven him. He knows he does not deserve it.


	61. Chapter 61

Jason's on his second cigarette, practically on his third. Fuck.

"Tim is awake," Damian says from the doorway that leads into the backyard. Jason glances over his shoulder at the kid who is staring contemptuously at the cigarette in his hand. It's not as bad as _Tim_ looking at a cigarette that way, but still.

Jason looks back to his cigarette and sighs smoke out of his mouth from his last inhalation.

"Fuck," he says, knowing he wants to go inside and see Tim. But now he fucking _reeks_ of smoke and Tim hates that smell. A lot. "...fuck."

"Isn't his wakefulness a good thing?" Damian asks.

"Well fucking duh, but." He sighs, grinding what's left of his cigarette against the knee of his jeans. They're old anyway. One burn scar won't make them any less wearable. He walks past Damian and watches the snarky little brat's nose wrinkle. Ugh. Shit. He must smell like a whole pack. Goddamnit.

He takes his time, hoping maybe the smell will wisp off into the ventilation system of the manor but like hell that's _actually_ going to happen. Tim is in the living room, lying on the couch. Jason doesn't so much see Dick drag Damian away as hear Damian's shoes squeak against the floor. Jason's vision has narrowed to Tim on the couch, hands behind his head.

"Hey," Jason says, nudging Tim's feet out of the way.

"Hey, yourself."

Jason looks at the white square of cloth on Tim's temple and his fingers almost move to the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. But Tim can probably already smell him and that is bad enough. He really doesn not need Tim looking at him like these things are going to make him drop dead any damn day.

Tim sits up and scoots closer to Jason, even though he knows Tim hates this smell (he hates it even more when it's mixed with an alcohol smell). It takes Jason only a moment to wrap his arm around him and pull him close. Tim clutches at Jason's clothes and make a happy humming sound. It makes Jason's chest tighten and hold him closer.

"How're you feeling Babybird?" Jason asks quietly.

"Not too bad. Dick made some fried rice." Tim shrugs. "It wasn't up to Alfred's standards, but it was edible." Tim peers up at him, his blue eyes so just damn pretty. "How about you?"

"You fucking scared the shit out of me yesterday. But. I'm good." Tim is a comfortable warmth against him.

"Sorry," a whisper.

"Don't be. Don't be sorry. I'm just. Glad. You're okay. That's all." Tim presses against him more.

"Mmmphhh," Tim's voice is muffled. Jason nudges him. "I love you," he says, pulling his face from Jason's side.

"I love you too," _sososo much. So fucking much. My Babybird. My baby._ "You sure you're okay?"

Tim looks back up at him, a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm sitting right here?"

"...uhm. Yes?" What the fuck?

"And you are sitting here with me?"

"Yeah."

"And so we are sitting together?"

"Yeah...?"

"Then I am okay." Tim falls back against him. "Completely and totally okay."

The words surround Jason with warmth. He moves Tim into his lap and hugs him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his lips.

_I love you. I love you. I fucking love you._

This. And Tim. And Tim being _this._ It's so incoherent as to make perfect sense and. Tim. Tim is okay now. Which means Tim will be okay later. And they don't have to talk about tomorrow because tomorrow will get here when it gets here. Jason will make sure Tim's okay then too.

Because he loves his Babybird.


	62. Chapter 62

It looks like it should be uncomfortable, the way Jason and Timothy are laying on the couch together. Tim's forehead is pressed almost painfully to Jason's chest, and Jason's right leg is sort of sprawled on Timothy's left. Timothy's bony right knee is practically jammed into Jason's stomach. But neither is complaining.

In fact, they have fallen asleep this way and look remarkably happy in a way that their positions would indicate as impossible.

Alfred moves to the hall closet to fetch a blanket for them. He remembers when Bruce would carry Richard or Jason to bed when they had fallen asleep. Tim was a much older beginner than the others, and thus his treatment was different. Alfred always graced him with blankets and more pillows wherever he happened to fall asleep. Master Richard has enjoyed carrying him though.

But Alfred is far too old for that.

He tucks the blanket around his grandchildren, Tim's hand coming up to grasp the hem of the blanket and tuck it under his chin.

"Thank you, Alfred," Tim's voice is groggy and barely recognizable, but full of gratitude. He seems to slip into sleep after his words fade into the silence of early night. After having so much trouble sleeping for so long he can sleep for extended periods, it would seem.

But, then, the mental taxation of all this is probably the most direct cause. Timothy should be back to his sleepless nights when he recovers from this (because we will, they all know he'll recover. He has to.).

Jason doesn't stir at all. It is impressive, considering that Jason is second only to Tim when it comes to sleeping lightly. Alfred leaves the two of them to rest and walks toward the library, where he and Bruce would put all their first edition books on special shelves. Bruce would read to him and sometimes Alfred would read to Bruce.

Some of his happiest memories are in here.

Dick, when he broke an heirloom because he was just so fidgety and scared and lonely. He'd been terrified to tell Bruce so Alfred painstakingly superglued the entire vase back together. Bruce had probably noticed, but no one has mentioned it.

Jason, when he had first discovered Bruce and Alfred's collecting of first edition books. He has been so fascinated with the process. It had been endearing.

Timothy, many times over because he was almost always here, especially when he moved in permanently. Tim reading to himself or aloud, Tim cleaning, Tim relaxing with Bruce or Dick in here. The times where Alfred and Timothy would spend time together in here.

And Damian. Damian nagging, Damian bothering, Damian craving so much attention because he needed someone to notice him. Timothy and Damian, here, together, even though they, allegedly, could not stand each other.

"Oh, Master Bruce," Alfred says, pulling one of the first edition collectors' books from the shelf before him. "All your children are growing up. I do hope you come home soon. Otherwise, they'll be my age before you get to see them again."

But Alfred can feel it in his old bones. Bruce will come home. In the end, all his grandchildren do.


	63. Chapter 63

Dr. Wilson's palms sweat. This isn't a common problem of his. In fact, he has always prided himself on being clam and collected. But this is a completely different situation than others. Because Timothy Drake-Wayne is standing there, waiting for today's good-bye, looking just like Dr. Wilson knew he would.

 _Please just give me a little more time,_ Tim's face says. _Just a little more._

But he cannot give Tim more time. Tim, if given the choice, will never, ever let his friend go. He can tell this from observations, from reports about their friendship. Dr. Wilson knows.

"Hello, Dr. Wilson," Tim says. Jason's standing slightly off to the left, just behind Tim, ready for anything. Dr. Wilson would really prefer that Jason be in another room. It will make today easier, a little bit. But Jason Todd is unpredictable, and he is right by Tim, so he has to make this work.

"Hello, Tim. How are you today?" They are all standing awkwardly in the living room. The house is tense. He is sure that Alfred is in a hall somewhere close by, but all the brothers are surrounding Tim, a back up, a support system.

"I'm fine," he says. "Just tired." Dr. Wilson sees the gears in Tim's head turning, how to ask this question and optimize the chance of getting the doctor to say yes. No matter what plan he comes up with though, the probability is zero. No chance. "I was wondering. If I could." Pause. "Have. A little more time. With Conner." No one moves. No one except Damian, who flinches. Jason Todd's face is as smooth and cold as stone.

"No, I'm afraid not." Panic. Panic blooms in Tim's eyes. The doctor pushes on. His palms are still sweating. "It has to be done today."

"But—" Tim stops. Looks lost.

"Tim," he makes his voice soft, gentle. "Tim, your family cannot keep this from affecting them eventually." This tact is poor. That is the point. The bluntness will be effective. "How will this constant association with Conner affect Jason?" Tim flinches. Jason's stone face cracks, red rage seeping out. He reaches to take one of Tim's hands. The boy's palms are sweaty too, but cold. "How will it feel to Jason to share you, always?"

Tim's hand is trembling. Dr. Wilson knows that the front door is unlocked. That is part of the plan.

Tim pulls his hand away, sidesteps Jason reaching for him and moves to the front door, as expected. He will seek a private rooftop, of this the doctor is certain. He is positive, after all the observations of Tim's abrupt departures. Tim slips out quietly. Jason waits two heartbeats, then breaks after him. Dr. Wilson grabs his arm and almost gets pulled along.

"Why would you say that?" Jason is still moving, but Richard has arrived to hold his other arm. "Why would you say that? _Fuck_. I'd. I'd never leave Tim. Not fucking ever and you—"

"It is what had to be done. He will not let go without feeling how he's affecting others. If I tried to explain how he was hurting himself this way, nothing would have come out of it." Dr. Wilson lets go. "Don't follow him."

"The last time you let him go out alone, he fell over, unconscious and hit his head. Great fucking job." He pulls against Richard. Damian watches. That boy watches like a predator.

"He will be fine," Tim will. That boy is stronger than he gives himself credit for. He is stronger than a lot of people give him credit for. "He will be fine and he will come home to you. Now. I have done all I can for today. So, I will wait here, with you, for his return."

Jason opens his mouth to spit venom, but Richard smiles, his eyes leaving the front door. "Okay. Alfred makes the best tea."

The doctor has done all he can for Tim. He listened. He said no. Now, Tim must choose whether or not to let go. For Jason. For Richard. For Damian.

For himself.


	64. Chapter 64

Tim skims rooftops. Sometimes the jumps are a little too far for him and he wishes he had his cape or his grappler. But on those jumps he just rolls, skins the knees of his jeans. Gotham never looks up. He doesn't feel weird running over rooftops in Gotham's not-sun.

He finds a place to sit, think, remember. Plays back everything in high speeds, everything he can remember.

Then Conner shows up. He sits in front of Tim in the shadow of the small water tower on some building near the Gotham City Bank. They're both really quiet, just sort of watching each other.

"Why?" Conner's voice is ragged, and sad.

"I. You're not." Alive. He's not alive.

"I am. I'm alive enough. You can see me. Who else do I need to convince?"

That tautness from months before, the night before Dick had sent him to Arkham, surfaces again. This cord needs to hold. He cannot afford a mental reaction like that again. He lifts his eyes from Conner's feet to his face. It is perfect, just as he remembers. Handsome and wonderful. Conner. Kon. His best friend. His interest. His.

But not really. Kon was never his. Won't ever be. Probably wouldn't ever have been.

(But, oh, the _possibilities_.)

"Kon. You." His voice is shaky, no matter what he tells himself. But this is for Jason. For his family. He needs to get better. "I loved you. I love you. You are." _Everything I ever wanted._ "But. Jason is." _Special._ "Jason is everything didn't know I wanted. He is. I need Jason. I love him."

"Tim." It feels like Conner's anger is squeezing his head. Then it dissipates. "You. I love you. You know."

"I know. I love you too. Just." Not the same way. Not anymore.

He thought this would be longer, thought there would be more screaming. But now, that Kon place in his head is just sad and lonely and miserable. That hurts more than the yelling would, Tim thinks. Kon stands. Tim stands too.

Conner puts his hand on Tim's cheek and says, "I want you to be happy. You know."

"I know."

"If he hurts you, I'll come back from the grave and kill him."

"Okay."

"Don't forget about me."

Tim starts. "I won't ever forget about you. My memory is—"

"Perfect." Conner smiles. It is a sad and feeble thing. "I know. Just. You'll always be my best friend."

Tim puts his hand over Kon's, squeezes. "You'll always, always, _always_ , be my best friend. I might go get a diary and name it Kon, just so I can have someone to talk to."

"Oh. Man. That was an awful joke."

"...just. Shut up. Stop antagonizing my humor."

Conner laughs then. It is lacking sadness. It is full and loud and clear.

Then Conner's hand begins to feel like mist on his face and he is gone. His laugh remains for a few moments. Tim thought this would last longer. Stephanie lasted longer. This. This is. This is not fair.

And Tim starts to cry. The wound Conner had left has been washed, the infection gone, and restitched. But it still hurts. Burns. Makes him want to curl into himself and pretend that Conner didn't die. He wants to call him back. But he can't. Won't.

He's on his knees, his forehead pressed against the roof. Tim can see his tears in little splotches. He breathes, sucks in dust, coughs.

But. Somewhere. Somewhere in him, it is quiet. And free. Not hollow, or empty. But waiting.

"Tim." The voice is stating his name, as if it knows. The voice is familiar, but almost unbelievable. Tim sits up, his eyes absorbing the silhouette of the cape and the cowl. It's—

"Bruce." Tim is up, Bruce moves forward. Tim squeezes. "I was. You were." He stops. Starts. "I was lost. But now I'm back. I'm home, you see."

He feels Bruce's arms hug a little tighter. "Me too." He doesn't ask questions, not yet. Tim is grateful. He decides he will tell Bruce, since he was nice enough not to ask. "Me too. I'm home."

_I'm home._


	65. Chapter 66

Bruce doesn't think that he has ever heard Tim say so much so fast. It is impressive and... surprising. They are running rooftops together ( _Batman and Robin_ ) back towards home, and the words are rushing out of him, a river, as if he wants to get it all out before they make it back.

Tim talks about Jason (Bruce had never suspected that they would become a couple, but he is happy for them).

Tim talks about Arkham (he knows that Dick had just wanted to protect Tim, make him better. He went about it the wrong way, but he was trying).

He talks about Damian (Bruce is glad they are getting along).

There is a moment where Tim has to catch his breath and they stop. "They thought you were dead," he says, gasping. "Everyone thought you were dead."

"Except you," Bruce says quietly. He is not surprised.

"Yes." And they are off again, running and Tim is talking. This is the most he has probably ever said. It is definitely the most he has ever said at one time.

He speaks of Dr. Wilson. Of his treatment. Of his goodbyes. Tim's life, it seems, are full of goodbyes. Forced, or otherwise.

Tim has run out of words the last stretch toward home. Bruce does not know what to say. He wants to apologize for not being there, for abandoning Tim when he had needed him. He wants to apologize for Dick. For Jason. For Damian. He wants to apologize for all of thing, these uncontrollable, these pains that have so obviously hurt him.

Because Bruce notices. Tim is thin, much thinner than before. This is a problem. His eyes are tired, there are shadows under them that tell a story. His hands are raw and peeling (but they look like that have been healing for a little while, at least). Tim taps his fingers in threes together. His feet pound in multiples of threes when he runs. This is new.

Bruce wants to talk. Say something deep and meaningful. But then they are home, and his moment is gone. Tim opens the door, sweeping his arm in a motion of wonder. A smile is bright and... unfamiliar on his face. Bruce doesn't think that he has ever seen Tim smile so widely. Ever.

When the door shuts behind them, Bruce pulls down the cowl. Alfred is the only one who looks unsurprised. Jason takes up a protective position around Tim, looking wary. Dick smiles and Damian rushes forward, arms outstretched. And he stops. Hesitates.

Bruce pulls his youngest son in for a hug.

"Everyone thought you were dead!" Dick says, hugging Bruce as well, squishing Damian in between them (Bruce has the opportunity to be there for this son, it is a blessing).

"That's not what I hear," letting go of Damian but keeping him close enough to have a hand on his shoulder. Damian seems... elated. And. Nervous. It is amusing,

"Because Tim didn't think you were dead." Jason looks him over. "And, I gotta say, for a dead guy, you look pretty fucking good."

"...so do you." Bruce replies. Tim snorts. Jason coughs, trying to hide a laugh.

"It sounds," Alfred chimes in, "like we have a lot of catching up to do."

No one notices, or seems to notice, anyway, that Dr. Wilson quietly slips out, patting Bruce on the back. He needs to remember to make a donation to Wilson's practice. That man has done more for him than he is sure anyone other than Alfred knows. (Add healing Tim to his list of debts.)

"Yes," Bruce says, instead of mentioning his friend's departure. "It would seem that we do."


	66. Chapter 66

The house is quiet. Tim is sitting up, just staring, looking around his bedroom, observing every shadow, every shape. He does not see his friends. This is a good thing. A lonely thing. But Jason is next to him. His breathing is virtually silent. Everyone else is asleep, including Bruce, which is impressive (but after all, it is late. Really late. Catching up had taken far longer than anyone would have guessed. Bruce had been through a lot).

Jason is watching him. Tim can feel his eyes on the left side of his face.

Jason is wondering how okay he is. Tim thinks he is alright. He is not hollow, or empty. There is no loudness, no pain. There is just Tim, in his head. When he thinks of Jason, there is just a pleasant swelling in his chest, the warmth spreads, unimpeded by Conner.

Tim takes a deep breath and turns, facing Jason.

"Hi." He feels giddy. Maybe he isn't over his crazy yet.

"Hey." Jason says. A small smile is sitting on his lips.

_His lips._

"Thank you."

"What the fuck for?" Jason's eyes shimmer in the darkness.

"Being. With me. Always. Even when." Pause. "You couldn't stand me. I. Had a seizure. In front of you. You helped. And kept helping."

Jason shakes his head, looking to the heavens. "Don't thank be, Babybird. Don't thank me for... Jesus. Tim." Jason puts both hands on either side of his face and pulls Tim forward.

And they kiss.

They. _Kiss._

It isn't a press of lips, not like Tim's first kiss with Jason. And it's not vicious, like Tim's _literal_ first kiss with Jason. It is. Everything. It is everything and anything and it is wonderful. It has teeth and tongue and love and _Tim is practically floating_ —

And then it's over.

"Don't thank me."

Tim is breathless. His voice makes it more obvious. "Can I thank you for that?"

"Shit no. I've been waiting for that. That's like. Thanking me for. I don't know. _Coming to see you in the goddamn hospital_. Are we clear?"

Jason doesn't wait for an answer. He pulls Tim close again, this time for a hug. A crushingly warm hug. Jason is mumbling into Tim's hair. He's not quite sure what Jason's saying, but. This. Being here. It's amazing. Jason's breath in his hair is amazing. The hug is amazing. The kiss was amazing.

"I love you." Jason's voice is rough. Tim this he may be crying, but he isn't going to ask. Jason likes to keep his tears a secret.

"I love you too." _I love you_. The words cause him no pain. _I love you. I love you. I love you so much._

Tim's eyes water. He is happy. Jason is happy. _They_ are happy.

Together.


	67. Chapter 67

Tim is on the phone. With Dick. Which should not be happening. They are on vacation. They are in _Florida_ for Christ's sake. Can't Dick just leave them the fuck alone for two weeks? Just two. Fourteen days. Please. Please!

"How are we?" Tim repeats Dick's question, as if he, too, cannot believe Dick has called. They are on a private beach (thank you, Bruce, though it is, of course, a grudging thank you). Why is Dick even calling? And Tim is pacing, kicking up white sand (Gulf Coast sand, baby) and the sun is kissing his skin the way Jason ought to be right the fuck now. "We're just _beachy_ , Dick."

Oh. Man. That was bad. He can hear Dick laughing from here.

"Well. You asked. You didn't want a bad pun? Don't ask punny questions." Dick laughs again. He loves the word punny. Or maybe he hates it so much it's funny. Whatthefuckever, he needs to get off the phone. Jason wants to hold Tim. Hold him tightly. Hold him tightly like he has wanted to do since before the beach in Virginia, when he had finally admitted to himself that he was in love with Tim.

Jason raises and eyebrow at Tim.

"Dick? I'm going to go. You interrupted my tanning. So. I'll talk to you later. ...okay. Right. Goodbye, brother dear."

Tim hangs up. And turns the phone off.

Thank. _God_. Because they have only been actually on the beach for a day and Tim's skin is already bronzing. Though his cheeks are pink with sunburn, because Tim always ends up rubbing the sunscreen off of his cheeks. But the look works for him. It's a-fucking-dorable. But Jason Todd doesn't use words like that, so it's just sexy, if anyone actually asks.

Tim walks over—fuck, that man. Ha. _Ha._ —and he's still thinner than he should be, but his ribs don't poke out like they're reaching for someone's eye. His cheekbones are still a bit pronounced, but Jason's making him eat fatty Florida food. (Hello fried shrimp and sweet tea. Makes Tim squirm. It's. Fucking. Precious. And don't bother correcting him. Jason won't listen anyway.)

Tim lies down, resting his head on Jason's chest sliding into the place that's basically Tim-shaped. His breath ghosts over Jason's chest. Man. This man. Fuck.

"Jason."

"Mm?"

"We are at the beach. Beaching involved swimming. Swimming, let's go."

"But. You just got down here."

"Please? I would like to swim in water that's not cold. Or really dangerous. Or really gross."

"...fine." Jason scoops Tim up and it shouldn't have been possible from that position, but hey, he's Jason-fucking-Todd, so he can. Came back from the dead, didn't he?

He wades out, puts Tim down, grabs him, and kisses him. He smells like sunblock. And sand and saltwater. And Tim. And it's a killer combination. Tim pulls away, wades further out. He beckons. Tease. (Where did Tim learn this fro—... Dick. Fucking. Grayson. Deadman. Or. Maybe. Well. Jason will think about it. Depends on how this pans out.)

Tim looks so much happier. Combined with actual sunlight, Tim is radiant. Radiant and happy and wonderful. The sun gleams on his hair, his skin, everywhere. Jason didn't ever think he'd be chasing Tim around on a private beach (that's romantic comedy shit right there) but here he is.

Jason thinks that he and Tim will move to a beach town to protect. And they will do this more often.

The thought only reaffirms itself when he catches Tim and kisses him. Hard.

(He thinks he can persuade Tim to agree to that.)


End file.
